


The Winds of Fate

by Arbryna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian Hawke's life could definitely be better. Flunking out of college, constantly fighting with her brother and disappointing her mother, and she's never had anything resembling a long-term relationship with a woman. That all changes, however, when a fight between her and her brother Carver sends them hurtling into a deep, dark pit--and into another world. </p><p>There's only one clue that could help them get home. A word, carved into the rock where they fell: Asha'bellanar. Now they have to find out what it means, and how it can help them get back to their own world. </p><p>Luckily, they're not alone. As fate would have it, they're discovered by a certain Rivaini pirate captain. Isabela's looking for a distraction, and helping the Hawke siblings get home will do the job just as well as anything else. Together with her crew of misfits, Isabela will help Marian and Carver find Asha'bellanar, and their way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Wave One of the 2012 Dragon Age Big Bang. Check out the awesome art created for the story by [Chenria](http://chenria.tumblr.com/post/36736956450/and-finally-i-am-allowed-to-post-the-last-batch-of).

“Marian.”

“Ngh.” Marian Hawke rolled away from the voice, clutching tighter to her pillow.

“C’mon, Sis, wake up.” 

This time the voice was accompanied by a gentle hand at her shoulder. Marian tried to shrug it off, but her little sister could be surprisingly persistent when she wanted to be.

“Five more minutes.”

There was a soft chuckle, and the mattress shifted beneath Marian as her sister joined her on the bed. “Up, sleepyhead. Mom and Carver are already downstairs at breakfast.”

With a groan, Marian blinked her eyes open, squinting at the soft morning light filtering through the hotel curtains. “It is way too early to be awake.”

“It’s nine,” came the fondly exasperated response. “We’ve only got an hour before the tour starts.”

Marian rolled over, to escape the sunlight if nothing else, and was greeted by the all-too chipper face of her little sister. Bethany’s brown eyes sparkled with affection as she reached down to ruffle Marian’s short, messy hair. 

“Ugh. Fine.” Marian batted Bethany’s hand away and threw the blanket off of her. She pulled herself to a sitting position at the edge of the bed, rubbing sleepily at her eyes. “I was having a really good dream, too,” she said grumpily. She didn’t know how she had ended up on an all-celebrity lesbian cruise, but Katee Sackhoff and Michelle Rodriguez had been about to come to blows over who got to make out with her first, and Salma Hayek was offering to referee. _Man, I need to get laid._

“Poor Mari,” Bethany said with a laugh. “Come on, get some clothes on so we can get going.”

“What, you don’t think this works?” Marian smirked, glancing down at the sports bra and boyshorts she’d slept in. 

Bethany rolled her eyes. “Only if you want to give Mom a heart attack.”

“Nah, I’m saving that for later,” Marian quipped. She pushed off the bed, stretching for a moment before padding over to the dresser. She rummaged through the drawers, finally pulling out a wrinkled pair of tan cargo shorts and a red ribbed tank top. “Telling her I’m a lesbian didn’t do it, but I have high hopes for this ‘I’m dropping out of college’ thing.”

“Marian,” Bethany sighed, shaking her head. 

“What?” Marian shrugged and began tugging on her clothes. “You know it’s my goal in life to be as big a disappointment to her as possible.”

Smoothing the tank top down over the waistband of her shorts, Marian turned to examine herself in the mirror on the wall. She didn’t even need to try, really. The figure staring back at her was about as far from her mother’s ideal daughter as she could get: muscles toned beyond feminine decency from long hours at the gym, black hair cut short in a choppy, boyish style, clothes found almost exclusively in the men’s department. 

It only got worse when Bethany stood and joined her. The younger Hawke was dressed in slim jean shorts and a sleeveless button-down with a quaint floral pattern on it. Her shoulder-length brown curls were pulled back into a girlish ponytail, with a few tendrils left out to frame her face. She was even wearing pale pink lip gloss. 

Well, at least her mom had one daughter she could be proud of. Marian wasn’t unhappy with who she was, really; she just wished her mother could accept that person, instead of trying to turn her into someone else. 

Bethany slipped an arm around Marian’s waist, resting her head on her big sister’s shoulder. Marian sighed, a bittersweet smile curving her lips. Her baby sister had always had a knack for being able to sense the rare moments when her mood took a turn for the depressing. 

“Okay, enough brooding,” Marian said, pushing aside her melancholy, at least for the moment. She was sure she’d have plenty of reason for it later, when she finally found the nerve to come clean with her mom. She squeezed Bethany in a quick sideways hug before untangling herself to hunt for her hiking sandals. 

It was going to be a long day.

***

The breakfast area was stocked with the usual goodies—fruit-filled pastries, oatmeal, dry cereal, a sparse variety of juices and milk. Their mom and brother were seated at a table across the room, each with a plate in front of them. Leandra had, predictably, gone the healthier route, with a banana and some oatmeal. Carver’s plate was its polar opposite: piled high with pastries, the only concession to a balanced breakfast being a Boston cream pie flavored yogurt. 

Not that it made a difference what was on Carver’s plate; for the first time Marian could remember, Carver was all but ignoring the food in front of him. Instead his eyes were glued to the cell phone in his hands, his dark brow furrowed as he stared at the tiny screen. 

Well, there was no point in going to the trouble of getting her own food when her dear brother had already done all the work for her. When Bethany split off to go collect her own breakfast, Marian sauntered over to sit across from her brother. “So, how is Peaches today?” she asked casually, reaching across the table to snag a pastry from Carver’s plate.

Blue eyes that were almost a mirror of her own narrowed at her. “Shut up,” Carver said moodily, shifting his gaze back to his phone. “At least I’m gonna give Mom some grandchildren,” he added, a smug smirk on his lips.

“Hopefully not anytime soon,” Leandra said sternly. Her eyes shifted to Marian, and a familiar look of wistful longing came over her face, quickly turning to disapproval as she took in Marian’s attire. “Marian, sweetheart, don’t you own _any_ clothes that were actually made for a woman?”

Marian rolled her eyes. “Last I checked, they don’t make bras for men,” she said with a shrug, taking a big bite out of her stolen pastry. Ugh; stale and dry. She washed it down with a swig of Carver’s watered-down orange juice. The hotel they were staying in was nice enough—the fact that she got her own bed and didn’t have to share with Bethany made up for a lot—but their complimentary breakfast left a lot to be desired. Still, it was food, and it was free. She shrugged and took another bite. At least the fake raspberry filling was decent.

Leandra still wore that pained expression. Marian could practically hear the thoughts going through her mother’s mind. She and the twins had never actually met any of their extended family; their father had claimed he didn’t have any, and their mother had been disowned by hers the day she announced she was marrying a doctor who had the gall to believe no one should have to _pay_ for health care. The Amells were an old, rich family, and they’d never forgiven Leandra for marrying below her station. Marian was pretty sure they’d all collectively drop dead if they knew her mother had raised a lesbian college dropout. For that matter, she still wasn’t convinced her mom would survive the news. 

“I hope Peaches has some maternal instinct,” Marian said dryly, changing the subject to one she was far more comfortable with—Carver’s flaws. “It’s a miracle you haven’t killed the dog—no one in their right mind would trust you with a kid.”

Carver huffed, sliding his cell phone shut with a snap. “Would you stop calling her that? Her name is Emily.”

“But Peaches just fits her so much better,” Marian said with a smirk. Carver had been pissed when she’d caught a glimpse of one of his texts to his girlfriend and learned of the oh-so-precious nickname, which naturally meant that she took every opportunity to use it. “It’s very…porn star.” 

“Oh, like Indigo was so much better?” Carver shot back. “Or _Spike_?” 

Marian resisted the urge to cringe. He _would_ have to bring her ex-girlfriends into this. It was bad enough she hadn’t so much as had coffee with a woman for months. “Carver, I will hurt you.”

“Children, please.” Their mother’s voice was strained, and she had raised a hand to her forehead, massaging the bridge of her nose. 

“Can’t you two go one day without trying to tear each other’s heads off?” Bethany asked pointedly, setting her own plate of food down on the table and taking the seat across from their mother. “For Mom’s sake?” 

Unwelcome guilt gnawed at Marian’s stomach. It had been a few years since their father died, but she knew the pain must still be fresh for their mother. With the twins having just graduated high school, and Marian presumably headed off to med school, this trip to Colorado Springs was her last-ditch attempt at recapturing some of the family spirit that had been shattered by his death.

A surreptitious glance across the table told Marian that even Carver had the decency to look a little ashamed. She guessed if Carver could try, then she could too. She gave her mom a grudgingly apologetic look. "Sorry, Mom."


	2. Chapter 2

The Rocky Mountains made for a gorgeous view. Marian had developed a fondness for the beaches and cliffs of California’s coast, but the canyon stretching out beyond the cheesy gold-panning setup and ropes course outside of the Cave of the Winds gift shop was, she had to admit, breathtaking. 

Marian’s shaky unspoken truce with Carver had held up surprisingly well. They’d managed to make it the entire short drive from the hotel without sniping at each other, and now Carver was in the gift shop with their mother picking up the tour tickets while Marian and Bethany waited on a bench outside, enjoying the view. 

Of course, Marian was also considering the practical possibilities of the ropes course that extended out over the edge of the cliff, which may not have been the most peaceful place for her thoughts to be.

“He’d probably do it, if I dared him,” Marian said thoughtfully, wondering just how far of a drop it was to the canyon floor. “Maybe I could bribe an employee to give him a faulty harness or something. Then I’d never have to put up with him again.”

“Marian,” Bethany chided, nudging her sister with her elbow perhaps a bit harder than necessary. “He’s still our brother.”

Marian sighed. It had been a lost cause, to hope that Bethany would indulge her even in a tiny, harmless—if violent—fantasy. She’d never get the whole twin-connection thing; if she had to spend any more time with Carver than was absolutely necessary, she’d probably go crazy, but Bethany seemed to really enjoy his company. Go figure.

“Hey, at least devising horrible, painful deaths for Carver distracts me from brooding over Mom,” Marian pointed out. Before Bethany could predictably come to their mother’s defense, she barreled on. “Did you see the way she looked at me at breakfast? No matter what she says, I bet she'd be thrilled if Carver knocked up his girlfriend. At least he'd be normal.”

Bethany sighed, slipping her arm around Marian’s and squeezing. "Mom loves you. You know that. She just wants a lot for us, is all."

Marian groaned and rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I can barely stand it now. What's she going to do when she finds out I can't even do college right?” To Marian’s horror, she felt her throat growing thick, tears stinging at her eyes. “I swear, she's got three kids, but somehow I'm the one she pins all her hopes on. I’m supposed to have all the grandkids, and become a doctor, and carry on Dad’s legacy." It was all too much for her to stand sometimes. Her mom had tried to be okay with her sexuality so far, but once she found out Marian wasn’t going to be a doctor, what then? A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she thought of all the blind dates with eligible sons of her mother’s friends that were undoubtedly in her future. 

"Mari, you have to tell her,” Bethany said gently. “Putting it off is only going to make things worse. Besides, she's going to notice when you don't go packing off back to school in August."

Ugh. Marian hated when her sister made sense—especially since it happened so often. “I know,” she said grudgingly, glaring down at the dirt at her feet. “I just…need a little time to figure it out. I mean, what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Mom, great pot roast—oh and by the way, I’m flunking out of college’?”

Bethany didn’t answer right away, and Marian could feel her sister tense beside her. Horror flooded Marian’s chest as a familiar pair of sneakers stepped into her view. Her eyes drifted up past worn blue jeans and a white t-shirt to land on Carver’s smirking face. 

“Mom’s in the bathroom,” Carver said gleefully. He looked like he had just won the goddamned lottery. “Here’s your tickets.” 

Marian watched numbly as Bethany took the tickets from Carver, who spun on his heels and walked back inside, already pulling out his cell phone again. 

“ _Shit_.”

Bethany had the decency not to try to give Marian false hope, instead offering a weak, apologetic smile. “I think you just ran out of time.”

***

Marian eyed her mother warily as they followed the tour group through the series of caverns. Her mother hadn’t thrown a fit and disowned her yet, so she could only assume that Carver had been too preoccupied with his phone to spill her secret. It was more of a chance than she’d been expecting, so she’d spent the past twenty minutes trying to figure out how to break the news before Carver got to it first.

How did you tell your mother that all of the dreams she’d ever had for you were crashing to the ground?

“Why did we want to come here again?” Carver grouched, glaring down at the phone that was becoming an extension of his hand. “This stupid cave doesn’t have signal.” 

Marian didn’t always make the best choices when she was nervous—like now, for example. “You afraid Peaches is gonna find some other hunky baseball player to lift her cheerleader skirt for?"

The phone in question slammed shut as Carver came to an abrupt halt, turning on Marian with a hateful glare. "Shut the fuck up, Marian.”

Marian laughed. "Ooh, I hit a nerve."

"I'll hit something," Carver promised, looming over Marian as he stepped in close with fists clenched. 

"Marian, Carver, please." Bethany’s voice barely registered above the haze of anger clouding Marian’s senses. 

“Like you could take me,” Marian scoffed, shrugging off Bethany’s attempt at a calming hand on her shoulder. “I kicked your ass for years, Carver, don’t think you can beat me now.”

Carver’s eyes held a victorious gleam, and Marian felt a cold certainty pool in her stomach even before he spoke. "Yeah, maybe if they taught bullying in college you wouldn't be flunking out."

Their mother’s gasp reached Marian where Bethany’s pleas had not. "Marian, is that true?"

For a long moment, Marian just stared in shock and disbelief and rage. “Fuck you, Carver,” she finally spat. She shoved him angrily away from her, storming off down a roped-off passage. The plastic “Employees Only” sign fluttered back and forth in her wake.

***

Echoes of footsteps resounded loudly throughout the cavern as Marian paced back and forth along the edge of a dark, ominous pit. She had never been so angry in her life—her skin fairly tingled with it. She shouldn’t be surprised, really; it was totally a Carver thing to do. Still, it was _hers_ to tell, damn it, and he had no right.

The timid approach of another set of footsteps had Marian whirling violently around, ready to tear off the head of whoever had dared to follow. Her shoulders slumped in resignation as she met Bethany’s concerned gaze; it _would_ be the one person she couldn’t bring herself to snap at. 

“Can I come talk to you, or are you going to push me over the edge?” Bethany joked, offering a cautiously supportive smile. 

“I’m not mad at _you_ ,” Marian replied sullenly, kicking a loose pebble over the edge of the pit with a little more force than necessary. There was no sign that it ever hit bottom; if there was an end to the pit, it was far enough down that sound wouldn’t carry. “I might throw Carver over, though.” The thought brought her an inappropriate amount of pleasure, and Marian looked out across the pit, trying to imagine how Carver would look flailing helplessly as he fell. 

“He’s just being Carver. You did provoke him,” Bethany pointed out calmly.

“He makes it so easy,” Marian shot back, looking around to avoid Bethany’s gaze. Her eyes caught on a crude carving in the wall, near the edge. “Asha’bellanar”—whatever that meant. 

“You know,” Bethany said, creeping closer to slip her hand in Marian’s, “he’s jealous of you. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries, you’re the one Mom pins all her hopes on.”

"Oh, like that's such a great thing!” Marian huffed, pulling her hand out of Bethany’s and crossing her arms over her chest. “I can't stand disappointing her, but it seems like the only thing I’m actually any good at."

"She'll get over it, Mari. You know she just wants you to be happy."

Easy for her to say—Bethany could never be a disappointment. 

A scuff of feet drew the sisters’ attention to the entrance to the cavern, where Carver stood, looking almost contrite. 

Bethany’s gaze alternated warily between them. “I’m going to go talk to Mom,” she said, slowly moving toward where Carver stood, “see if I can calm her down a little.” She pinned Marian with a stern glare. “Try not to kill each other.”

Carver just shifted awkwardly with his hands shoved into his pockets as Bethany moved past him, like he was trying to figure out what to say. As Bethany’s footsteps faded into silence, he finally dared to speak. “I’m sorry, okay? That was an asshole thing to do.” If it weren’t for the grudging roll of his eyes, Marian might almost believe it was genuine. 

“Yeah, it really was,” she agreed. “But you’re kind of an asshole, so it fits.”

“I’m trying to apologize,” Carver said exasperatedly as he stepped closer. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have opened your big mouth to begin with,” Marian shot back. 

“You started it!”

“And that gives you the right to fuck up my life?”

“I think you managed to do that pretty well on your own!”

They were in each other’s faces now, fury tangible in the air between them as their voices echoed wildly down the nearby pit. Carver reached forward, and Marian didn’t pause to gauge his intention—she reacted on blind instinct, punching him squarely in the jaw. 

She didn’t realize how close they were to the edge until her fist made contact and Carver lurched to the side, the loose rocks at the edge crumbling away under his feet. As much as she had fantasized about it, she realized she didn’t really _want_ Carver to fall to his death.

“Shit, Carver—” 

Marian grabbed onto his arm to try to pull him back, but it was too late. They were both falling.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Marian was aware of was pain. Her hip throbbed sharply, her head was pounding, one or two of her ribs were almost definitely cracked, and there was something warm trickling down her arm that she was all too sure was blood. On top of all of that, she was more sore than she’d ever been in her life, even after her most grueling workouts at the gym. When she got the chance to look, she was pretty sure she’d find that her bruises had bruises.

On the bright side, she was also pretty sure that death didn’t hurt this much. Points for being alive, at least. Not many people could say they survived a fall from—how far _did_ they fall, exactly? She tried to look up at the ledge they’d fallen from, but there was no light to speak of; the only way she even knew her eyes were open was the tight, sharp pain that erupted when she blinked. Her knuckles hurt, too; she must have tried to block her fall and landed on her hand.

_Great. Punched myself in the face. Carver will never let me hear the end of it._

“Ow.” Carver’s voice was deadpan, but Marian could hear the pain in it. He couldn’t have fared much better. 

“Oh, you’re alive, then?” Marian said, wincing as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” 

There was something strange about the sound of their voices; they weren’t echoing like they should, the way they had been when they were shouting at the edge of the pit. The longer Marian was conscious, the more uneasy she became, and the pitch darkness wasn’t helping. 

She reached into her pocket, frowning when her fingers brushed against something sharp. Carefully, she pulled out what used to be her cell phone—the jagged edges and shards of plastic that fell from it, clinking as they hit the stone floor, suggested that it probably didn’t work anymore. She pressed the power button just for the hell of it, but nothing happened.

“Well, that’s not going to work,” she mumbled, shoving the electronic remains back in her pocket. “My phone’s trashed.”

“Oh god, my phone!” Marian heard the faint rustling of clothing as Carver undoubtedly dug through his pocket. “Please work, please work, please—yes!” 

A bright bluish-white light illuminated Carver’s face, and Marian had never been so happy to see her brother in her life. “It works?” 

Carver’s excitement faded as he stared at the screen. “No signal.” He sighed. “Em’s gonna think I gave up on her.” 

“Oh, yes,” Marian said, rolling her eyes, “because _that’s_ the first thought I had when I realized that we were trapped at the bottom of a pit with no light and no way out: ‘God, I hope Carver can text his girlfriend from down here.’”

“Shut up, Marian,” Carver said, the pale light from the phone casting eerie shadows over his face as he scowled. “This is your fault, you know.”

Marian scoffed, then grimaced at the sharp pain that accompanied the sudden breath. “How do you figure that?”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t kept mocking me about Emily.”

A wave of nausea crashed over Marian as she tried to push herself to her feet. Her head spun violently, and she abandoned the attempt with a groan, leaning back on her hands. “I wouldn’t have had a reason to mock you if you weren’t staring longingly at your phone every five seconds,” she shot back. “Can’t you go two days without sexting your precious ‘Peaches’, or is your brain permanently lodged between your legs?”

Carver’s response died on his lips as they both realized that the darkness was becoming…well, less dark. They hadn’t heard anyone approach, but when they looked in the direction of the light, there was a figure standing there nonetheless, the flickering glow of the torch illuminating bronze skin and a curious smirk. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” The woman’s sultry, drawling voice carried to Marian’s ears, and she was thankful that she hadn’t managed to stand up, because the accent alone made her even dizzier than she had been before. 

Then there was the woman herself: all curves and muscle, with legs that went on for days. The only thing covering them were thigh-high leather boots and a flimsy excuse for a shirt, slit up both sides to the waist. The neckline just barely managed to conceal what were quite possibly the most perfect breasts Marian had ever seen. Bits of what Marian could only call armor—bizarre as that thought was—adorned her arms, and a generous amount of gold jewelry and a pair of blue sashes, one around her waist and the other tied around her head, completed the ensemble. She looked like some teenage guy’s porno fantasy of a pirate, only Marian didn’t think any teenage guy was _that_ creative, and she was pretty sure that the gold-hilted daggers peeking over her shoulders weren’t just for show. 

She didn’t realize she was staring until Carver’s smug voice reached her ear, quiet and far closer than it had been before. “Now who’s the one with their brain between their legs?”

Marian scowled and smacked him in the chest, only slightly sorry when he winced visibly at the contact. He must have sustained injuries of his own from the fall. 

“Now this has just got to be a good story.” The mystery woman took a few more steps toward them, her eyes roaming freely over their prone forms. Marian could practically _feel_ the woman’s gaze sliding over her skin, predatory and cautious and intrigued all at once.

“We…we fell,” Marian said weakly, pushing past her dizziness to force herself to stand. Her ankle protested the added pressure, but held her weight all the same. Carver followed suit beside her, turning slowly to examine their surroundings.

A thin, dark eyebrow arched skeptically in response. “You fell.” 

“Marian,” Carver said uneasily, nudging her arm.

Her stomach lurched as she tore her eyes away from the woman, taking in the sight of what the darkness had previously hidden. They were in what appeared to be a small cavern whose only exit was the opening the strange woman had come through. Piled up against the walls were—Marian cringed at the thought—what appeared to be human skeletons, dry and crumbling with age. Not everyone was lucky enough to survive the fall, apparently. 

The fall. Marian’s eyes shot upward, hoping to get some idea of how far the drop had been, only to be met with a solid stone ceiling not more than three feet above their heads. No wonder the woman didn’t look convinced by her excuse.

“No, this—this isn’t right,” Marian said, panic rising in her chest. “There was a pit—we fell into a pit, then landed here.” She pressed her palms to her temples, trying to make her head stop swimming. This wasn’t possible. “Wait, there—there was a word carved into the wall. Near the pit. Asha…Asha’bellanar? Whatever that means.” 

It didn’t mean anything—it couldn’t. It was gibberish. What the _hell_ was going on?

“Hmm…” The mystery woman didn’t seem to find it as ridiculous as Marian did. In fact, something seemed to have clicked into place for her. She shrugged and breezed past Marian and Carver, intent on studying the walls behind them. “Sounds elvish. Merrill might know something.” 

Wait. Elvish? Marian met Carver’s gaze, finding him just as bewildered as she was. Were they having some kind of freaky shared Lord of the Rings hallucination or something?

“A-ha!” The woman cried triumphantly, prying a loose stone from the wall. The two siblings watched, frozen, as she pulled an ornate dagger from the niche she had uncovered. “Oh, now this is _nice_.”

“Isabela.” Marian turned at the new voice, immediately regretting it as her head and stomach violently protested the sharp movement. A slender, white-haired man stood at the opening to the cavern, a torch in one hand and an almost comically large sword strapped to his back. The flickering light revealed vague white outlines of tattoos running up his arms and peeking out of the neck of his—yeah, that was definitely armor. “There you are. Did you find the blade you were looking for?”

“I found a lot more than that,” the woman—Isabela, Marian assumed—replied with a smirk, raking her eyes pointedly over Marian and Carver. 

The man gave them a cursory glance before turning back to Isabela. “But the dagger?”

“Yes, yes,” Isabela said, brushing past Marian to hand the dagger over. The man took it in his free hand, turning it over as his shrewd eyes appraised it. “Dagger of the Four Winds. Pretty, isn’t it? I’m tempted to keep it for myself.”

“That would not be wise.” Whoever this man was, he didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor. 

“I know,” Isabela sighed, taking the dagger back and slipping it into a sheath built into the top of one of her boots. “Castillon’s still angry enough about you."

It hadn’t seemed possible, but the man seemed to grow even more tense at Isabela’s words. “We should get moving,” he said flatly. “Are your…friends joining us?”

Isabela turned and quirked an eyebrow at Marian. “Well, come on,” she said, holding her torch out for Marian to take. “We’ll get you back to the ship, see if Merrill can figure out what sort of magic is at work here.”

Marian stared numbly at the torch, trying to process Isabela’s words. Magic? _Ship?_ They were in the middle of a cave in landlocked Colorado. Where exactly were they going to find a ship?

This whole thing was crazy. Still…it had taken them twenty minutes, with a guide, to get to where they’d been in the caves before they fell, and they couldn’t even go back the way they’d come. These people had to know some other way out—they got in, after all.

It didn’t hurt that Isabela was seriously easy on the eyes. Marian looked at Carver and shrugged, ignoring the roll of his eyes as she reached for the proffered torch.

***

Following Isabela proved harder than Marian expected, particularly with her hip and ankle screaming in pain with every step. It hurt to breathe, and much to her chagrin, she found herself having to lean on Carver in order to stay upright. Isabela kept a healthy pace ahead of them, glancing back occasionally to make sure they were keeping up.

“I know she’s hot, Marian,” Carver murmured under his breath, “but these people have weapons. Like, actual, sharp, fight-to-kill weapons. Is it really smart to be going along with them?” 

“Shut up, Carver.” Marian would have argued with him, but she was too busy squinting at the man walking alongside Isabela. There was something strange about him; he was muscular, more than strong enough to wield the monstrous sword on his back she was sure, but his build was almost delicate. And his ears—they were _pointed_. 

“Just because you haven’t gotten laid in months—”

“Carver. Shut. Up,” Marian hissed, jabbing him with her elbow. “Look at that man. Does anything at all seem weird about him?”

“Easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” Isabela said, mistaking Marian’s scrutiny for admiration. Marian had been so distracted she hadn’t even noticed Isabela dropping back to match their pace. “And those tattoos…” She loosed a low, appreciative moan that sent shivers through Marian, injuries be damned. “He's got them everywhere, too,” she added, slyly quirking her eyebrow at Marian.

Before Marian could work out how to respond to that, the man in question stopped abruptly to meet Isabela’s gaze and gesture pointedly toward an uneven bit of ground. 

“Duty calls,” Isabela sighed. “Fenris is always eager to make use of my dexterity.” She shot Marian and Carver a suggestive smirk before sauntering ahead.

Marian groaned as she watched her go, pointedly ignoring Carver’s obvious delight at her misfortune. “She would be straight,” she sighed. “And taken.” 

Carver scoffed. “That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“Once.” Marian glared at her brother as she limped after Isabela, cursing her need to lean on him for support. “It was one time, Carver, and she came on to me.” 

It was an old argument. One of Carver’s ex-girlfriends had developed something of an obsession with Marian, and Carver never could let it go, even when the girl had run off to a lesbian commune in Berkeley after graduation to become a militant activist. Marian really didn’t think she could be blamed for _that_. 

“As much fun as the subject is, could we maybe talk about your bad luck with women _after_ we find our way back to Mom and Bethany?”

“Carver—” Marian stopped short as they caught up to their companions, both of whom were on alert. She looked around, trying to figure out what they were looking for; the skittering of claws on stone was her answer.

“Ah, balls,” Isabela said, reaching for her daggers as a reptilian head emerged from around a bend in the tunnel. Marian barely had time to process the sight before one of those daggers went flying, sinking squarely into the center of the creature’s face.

It wasn’t alone. Even as it let out a dying screech, three more rounded the bend, snarling as they advanced. Isabela sighed, reaching for the dagger she’d slipped into her boot before rushing to meet them. Fenris drew his sword and joined in, and those weapons were _definitely_ not for show. Isabela danced around one, lunging and darting and spinning so fast it made Marian dizzy just to watch. 

Meanwhile, Fenris had his hands full with the other two; some foreign word that sounded like a curse escaped his lips as his sword was knocked from his hands. As Marian looked on in shock, the white lines etched into his skin began to glow, nearly blinding her with their intensity. Then, inexplicably and against all laws of physics, he reached his hand _into_ the animal’s chest. There was a spray of blood as he withdrew his fist, tearing through the— _not a dragon, can’t be a dragon_ —creature’s flesh. 

Isabela must have finished the other one off, because then she was turning back to Marian and Carver, clicking her tongue at the dagger in her hand. “What a shame, to get blood all over such a pretty blade.” She raised her eyes to Marian, who was swaying ominously on her feet. Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "Are you all right, sweet thing?"

Marian fainted.


	4. Chapter 4

“It looks like it was mostly shock.” 

Something damp and cool pressed gently against Marian’s forehead and cheeks. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes; the world was still spinning—or was it rocking?

“Her injuries certainly didn’t help, though,” the unfamiliar voice continued. It was soft, and definitely male. “Where did you say you found them?”

“In some dead end deep in the cave.” Oh, and there was _that_ voice again, rich and seductive. Isabela. Marian must still be dreaming—that was the only way to explain it all. “She claimed they fell, but there’s something strange about it. I was going to ask Merrill—it sounds like it’s up her alley.”

“You’d have to tear her away from that blasted mirror first.” The man’s voice hardened a bit, tinged with bitterness. “I don’t know how you can tolerate such dangerous behavior. If it were my ship—”

“It’s not your ship.” The cot beneath Marian dipped a little, and the smell of spice and sweat overwhelmed her senses. “I keep you on board because you’re a good healer, but I won’t have you questioning my decisions. You’re lucky no one’s around to hear you—if you try to spark a mutiny on my ship, Anders, that stuffy old sod in your head will be the least of your concerns.”

Isabela’s voice was edged with steel, and Marian felt an answering clench in her belly at the sound of it. She had to hand it to her imagination—Isabela was certainly one of her better fantasies, although she could have done without the whole ‘lusting after men’ thing. She could pine after straight girls just fine in her waking hours.

Speaking of waking, she should probably do that soon. Her mother was probably worried sick. “Mom?” she mumbled, blinking her eyes open. 

The tension from just moments before faded as Isabela laughed heartily. “Oh, Anders. Ser Pounce has a sister.”

“Leave my cat out of this,” the man who must be Anders said, scowling at Isabela. He turned his attention to Marian, his demeanor softening even as he blocked her attempt to sit up. “You should probably stay lying down for a bit,” he instructed. “How are you feeling?”

Not sure if she had failed to wake up or if something far more confusing was going on, Marian stared blankly up at her caregiver. He was smiling down at her, reddish-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and day-old stubble on his cheeks. He seemed kind, almost like her memories of her father—even if she’d never quite seen her father wearing—well, Marian wasn’t quite sure _what_ it was, but it involved buckles and gold trim and copious amounts of feathers. 

“Like I got hit by a bus,” she said hoarsely, noticing even as she said it that it wasn’t strictly true anymore—while she felt queasy, and her head felt thick and fogged, the pain from her injuries had dulled to nothing more than a tightness in her muscles, and it no longer hurt to breathe. Either she’d been passed out for way longer than it felt, or…well, she didn’t want to think about what might have caused her to heal so quickly. It wasn’t possible.

Anders frowned a little at her response, confusion clouding his warm brown eyes. “I’m not sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound like a lot of fun,” he finally said, lips quirking in a half-smile. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Isabela said, wry amusement curling her lips as she glanced back and forth between doctor and patient. “I’ve got some… _pressing_ matters to attend to.” 

“I’ll just bet you do,” Anders murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes as Isabela sauntered out of the small room. 

Questions swarmed in Marian’s mind; where were they? What was going on? Why was the room still _rocking_? Before she could even try to figure out where to start, though, a small orange cat hopped up onto the cot. It stared at Marian for a moment, cocking its head, before butting up against her hand insistently. She couldn’t help but smile, and reached up to scratch behind its ears. “Ser Pounce, I take it?”

"Ser Pounce-A-Lot the Second,” Anders said, affection blending with indignation in his voice. He reached out to stroke along the cat’s back. “The Wardens made me get rid of my first one."

 _Wardens?_ Marian’s hand stilled on Ser Pounce’s head. The cat let out a mewl of protest and batted at her fingers, but she was stuck on the implications of his words. _What is he, a convict or something? Shit Marian, you’d better_ hope _this is a dream._

Before she could process how to react to that statement, the room rocked more violently than it had been. Anders was thrown off-balance at the sudden movement, and lurched into Marian, knocking the air from her lungs. Ser Pounce yowled as the healer’s hand dug sharply into its paws. With a hiss, the cat freed itself and shot off the cot, disappearing out the door in a flash.

“Sorry about that,” Anders said sheepishly, pushing himself back up to his previous position. “Must have hit a rough patch of sea.”

It took a moment to sink in, but when it did, it hit Marian like a freight train. “We really are on a ship."

Anders nodded. "The _Siren's Call_. Isabela's pride and joy, and the only thing she cares about save herself." He seemed to realize how bitter he sounded, and laughed softly as he shook his head. "I shouldn't be so hard on her. If she hadn't taken me onto her crew, I'd probably be back in the Wardens' clutches, or worse—the Templars." 

Marian’s head swam. She was trying to listen to what he was saying, but the enormity of the situation—no, the _impossibility_ of it—was too much. It was all she could do to contain the panic swelling in her chest.

"It's just hard,” Anders continued thoughtfully, looking down at his hands. “I used to be like her, not caring about anything, only after my next laugh. But things...change. Eventually you just have to grow up." He glanced back at Marian, looking for some sort of validation or agreement; the only thing Marian could offer was a queasy smile. “You’re not much for sailing, are you?”

“I've...never tried it before," Marian replied through gritted teeth. Her stomach rolled sharply, and her valiant attempt at a smile fell from her face as she nearly gagged. 

He smiled sympathetically, resting a hand on each of her wrists. "Here, let me help." 

A cool, tingling sensation seeped into her skin, trickling up her arms and branching off to spread up her neck and down into her stomach. The nausea faded, and her head cleared, but she definitely couldn’t say she felt _better_. There was no logical explanation for any of this: the cave, the ship, _magic_ —because that’s the only thing it could be, what Anders just did to her. The only possibility wasn’t really a possibility at all, because people didn’t actually fall into alternate universes. That was the kind of thing that was reserved for bad sci-fi movies. 

Marian faintly heard Anders asking her something, but the raging of her thoughts drowned him out. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, beating against ribs that felt increasingly too tight. “I—I have to go,” she said, tugging her wrists out of his grasp and stumbling to her feet. She nearly fell, but strong hands came to rest at her waist and shoulder, keeping her upright. 

It was too much, all of it was too much. She pushed him away from her, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Somehow she made it to the door, and braced herself on the frame as she peered out into a hallway. To the left, it steadily got darker, the dim outlines of more doors barely visible; to the right was a wooden stairwell bathed in light, and she could just see a flash of blue sky. 

With faltering steps, she made for the stairs, leaning heavily against the wall as the floor rolled beneath her feet. The smell of salt and tar assaulted her senses as she emerged on the main deck of what was impossibly, undeniably, a ship. Her stomach lurched again, and she rushed to the rail, her fingers curling around the worn wood as she leaned over the side. 

When nothing came back up—it had been hours since those stale pastries at breakfast, after all—Marian let out a long, shuddering breath and lifted her gaze from the waves lapping against the ship. A small, rocky island was fading from sight, surrounded by clear blue water as far as Marian could see. 

It wasn’t possible, but Marian was growing sickly certain that she was nowhere near Colorado Springs, or the air-conditioned hotel room she had woken up in. Which begged the question: where _was_ she, and how the hell was she going to get home?

An indulgent moan jarred Marian from her thoughts; reflexively, her head shot up in the direction the sound had come from, but she could see nothing but the fluttering of ropes in the wind, and the narrow passageway around the taller deck that took up most of the back of the ship. 

She shouldn’t be curious, shouldn’t let her feet carry her toward that passageway; she’d watched enough porn to know exactly what caused sounds like the one she had just heard. The best thing for her to do would be to go back belowdecks and find Carver, so they could figure out what they were going to do next. 

Another moan, more guttural this time, carried on the breeze, and Marian found herself unable to stop the forward motion of her feet. Carefully, bracing herself against the rail to keep her balance, Marian crept around what was probably the captain’s cabin (if her scarce knowledge of ships gleaned from too many viewings of _Pirates of the Caribbean_ was at all accurate); her breath seized in her throat as she peered around the corner. 

Isabela was perched on the rails, hands tangled in the ropes above her head. Fenris was situated between her legs, his black leggings loose around his thighs as he held tight to Isabela’s hips. They were both still fully clothed, aside from the tangled black underwear dangling from one booted ankle that fluttered in the wind as Isabela dug her heels into the backs of Fenris’s legs, but there was no question what was going on. 

Marian couldn’t see much, but from this close she could hear the wet slide of flesh, the lewd sucking noises Fenris made as he trailed ardent kisses over the bronze skin of Isabela’s breasts. She could see the dark outline of Isabela’s nipples pressing against the fabric of her shirt, could see the white lines on Fenris’s arms glow faintly blue as he thrust his hips forward, muscles rippling under skin glistening with sweat. 

There was something raw, and primal, and almost beautiful about the display; it wasn’t fake like porn, designed to titillate perpetually adolescent straight men. The things they were doing, the sounds they were making, they were all for their own pleasure and no one else’s. Marian couldn’t stop watching if her life depended on it. The sheen of sweat on Isabela’s heaving breasts, the flex of muscle in her thigh, the curve of her throat as she threw her head back when Fenris moved up to nip at her collarbone—it was downright _exquisite_. Her mouth went dry, all of the moisture in her body flooding between her legs; her knuckles were white as she gripped the rail, sure that if she let go her knees would give out. 

Then Isabela cried out, going rigid for one long moment before a shudder racked her body, and a sharp gasp tore from Marian’s throat before she could stop it. Her hand slapped over her mouth, but too late—Isabela’s eyes, half-lidded with arousal and satisfaction, drifted over to catch Marian’s, and a lazy smirk spread across her lips. 

Marian’s heart seized in her throat.


	5. Chapter 5

Isabela didn’t stop.

She kept rocking against Fenris, her gaze firmly locked on Marian. Fenris, for his part, didn’t seem to notice Marian’s presence, too caught up in finding his own release. For several agonizing moments, Marian was frozen in place, watching wide-eyed as he thrust more and more urgently, his sharp breaths punctuating the awkward silence. 

Well, awkward for Marian, at least. Isabela didn’t seem bothered in the slightest—in fact, she seemed almost entertained by Marian’s shock. 

Marian tried desperately to will herself to move, but her feet were apparently still not in the mood to cooperate. It was only when Fenris jerked forward one last time with a barely audible grunt that Marian found the willpower to run.

It would have helped, of course, if she’d known where she was going. The only clear thought in her mind was to get off of the deck and find somewhere to hide, so she stumbled back down the stairs. She didn’t want to face Anders again—didn’t want to face anyone, really—so she made her way down to the end of the hallway, ducking into the last door on the right.

Where she was met with three sets of eyes, all shifting to her as she burst into what appeared to be the kitchen. 

Carver smirked up at her from his seat at the table. “You okay there, champ? You’re not going to faint again, are you?”

Marian glared back at him, thankful to find a steady sort of comfort in her dislike for her brother. “Oh, because I’m sure you’re taking it so much better. How many times have you puked since you set foot on this ship?”

“Oh, it wasn’t an awful lot,” piped up one of the room’s other occupants, from her seat next to Carver. She was a slight, willowy girl with dark hair tucked behind pointed ears, wide green eyes, and faint designs tattooed on her face. She spoke with a lilting accent that Marian couldn’t quite place. “Not nearly as bad as when I first started sailing. I was miserable for weeks. Carver was only sick a couple of times.” 

The sour look on Carver’s face at the blow to his pride managed to almost make Marian feel like herself again. Before she could tease him further about it, though, the last inhabitant of the room spoke up.

“You must be Hawke.” The man sitting across from Carver was short and stocky, with a wide chin and a shirt that exposed more chest hair than Marian had ever wanted to see in her life. 

“Well, one of them,” Marian replied with a shrug. “I’m Marian.” 

He gave her an appraising look, idly stroking his chin, before giving his head a little shake. “You know, I think Hawke fits better.”

Carver scoffed. “So what am I, then—‘the other Hawke’?”

The short man chuckled, low and rich. “Junior, you’re more bull than bird of prey.” 

“Great,” Carver grouched, glaring sideways at Marian. “Even away from Mom and Bethany I’m runner-up to you.”

“Hey, don’t take it the wrong way,” the man continued. “Being a younger brother has its perks.”

“Whose perks are we talking about now?” 

Marian’s eyes widened, and she froze in place as Isabela strode past her into the room with a loose-limbed gait and a satisfied smile on her lips. 

“Isabela,” the girl next to Carver said brightly. “We were just introducing ourselves to Hawke.”

“Ooh, Hawke, is it?” Isabela purred, turning to rake her eyes over Marian. A smirk played at the corner of her lips. “We never did get the chance for introductions.” She quirked an eyebrow, and somehow Marian _knew_ Isabela wasn’t talking about her fainting spell.

“It’s Marian,” she managed to choke out, staunchly avoiding Isabela’s gaze. 

A gaze which lingered on her, appraising her in a way that felt altogether different from the way the man had just moments before. Marian could practically feel it heating her skin. “I like Hawke,” Isabela finally said. “It works.” 

Marian would have argued, but all she could think about was the way Isabela had looked arching against Fenris, and she couldn’t quite remember how to form words. 

“I’m Captain Isabela,” the woman in question said grandly, giving a little bow. “The _Siren’s Call_ is my ship, as you've probably gathered. That's Varric, our quartermaster,” she continued, gesturing toward the short man as she strode over to sink down into the chair between him and the other girl, “and this sweet little kitten is Merrill." She slipped an arm around Merrill’s shoulders as she spoke, and Merrill leaned happily into the sideways embrace.

Marian’s stomach chose that moment to emit a loud growl. Merrill gasped and pulled away from Isabela. “Oh, I should get you some food!” she said, rising to her feet. “Please, sit down. I’ve still got some stew left over from lunch.” 

Isabela chuckled fondly, shaking her head as she watched Merrill scurry over to the stove. Marian, with no real alternative save for running back on deck and throwing herself overboard, sank into the chair opposite Isabela, trying her best to force her heart to slow its racing. 

“So Hawke,” Varric chimed in. “Carver was just telling Daisy and me about how Isabela found you.”

“Oh, was he now?” Marian said, raising an eyebrow at Carver. “Did he mention how all of this is his fault?”

“I left that part out,” Carver retorted dryly. “I was trying to remember that weird word you said you saw.”

Under the table, Marian’s foot bumped against Isabela’s, and she yanked it back as quickly as if it had been burned. “Yeah,” she said, shaking her head to clear it of the confusion of thoughts running through it. “Asha…asha bella something.” 

Merrill’s gasp was accompanied by the clattering of metal as she fumbled with the bowl in her hands. “Asha’bellanar?” 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Marian confirmed. “What is it?”

“Not what, who,” Merrill corrected, hurriedly filling the battered tin bowl with what appeared to be some sort of brown mush. She brought it over and set it down in front of Marian before slapping a hand to her forehead. “Oh, you’ll need a spoon.” After rushing back to fetch said utensil, she handed it to Marian. “It’s not very good, I’m afraid, and it’s gotten rather cold, but it’ll fill your belly,” she said with an apologetic smile. 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Marian replied, poking at the questionable contents of her bowl. With a shrug, she scooped up a spoonful of it and brought it to her lips. Merrill was right, it wasn’t at all good; the gravy was bland and congealed, the vegetables mush, the meat tough and chewy. Still it was food. She tried not to grimace as she swallowed. “So, okay, _who_ is this Asha’bellanar person?”

“Oh, she’s a powerful witch,” Merrill said, dropping back down into her own seat. Her eyes were wide with awe. “We Dalish are taught of her from a young age.”

“Wait—what’s a Dalish?” Carver interjected, furrowing his brow.

“Dalish elves,” Merrill said, frowning a little. “Haven’t you heard of them? I suppose you might not have. We’re even forgetting our own heritage, how can we expect humans to remember?” 

“There, there, Kitten,” Isabela said, rubbing Merrill’s back a little. “I think there’s a lot these two don’t know about.”

“Yeah, like _elves_ ,” Marian said with a dry, nervous laugh. She gestured to Varric. “Next you’ll be telling me this guy’s a dwarf.” 

Varric lifted an eyebrow. “Something wrong with dwarves?” 

Marian sputtered a bit, turning her gaze to Carver. At least he seemed as confused as she was. “Okay,” she conceded, collecting another spoonful of stew, “let’s just continue with this little Dungeons and Dragons fantasy we’ve got going on here. Merrill, tell us more about this witch.”

“Well, I don’t actually know a lot for sure,” Merrill admitted. “She’s very powerful, which means she’s also very good at covering her tracks. Some say she can turn into a dragon, or that she secretly _is_ a dragon, but I think that’s just a rumor. All I know is whenever something big happens, something momentous, she always seems to be involved somehow.” 

“Well, I think it’s obvious there’s some sort of magic at work here,” Isabela said. “People don’t just fall through solid stone ceilings, and the way these two talk, I’d be willing to bet good coin they’re not from anywhere in Thedas.” 

Varric laughed. “Knowing you, Rivaini, you’d find a way to cheat even that bet.”

“That’s besides the point,” Isabela said with a mischievous grin. “This witch probably knows something about what’s going on—maybe she could even help them get home.”

“But how do we find her?” Varric replied.

Isabela pondered the question for a moment, before lighting up as something clicked into place. “Kitten, did you say this witch could turn into a dragon?” 

Merrill furrowed her brow. “Well, that’s what they say, but I don’t really believe it—”

“Varric, set course for Kirkwall.” A victorious grin was already spreading across Isabela’s lips. Marian tried not to notice how attractive it looked on her, but it was a losing battle. 

Varric chuckled, shaking his head. “She won’t be happy to see you, Rivaini.” 

Isabela rolled her eyes. “When is she happy about anything? Other than arresting me, of course.” 

That brought Marian’s thoughts to a screeching halt. “Do you...get arrested often?” she asked warily.

“Oh, this is golden,” Varric said, laughing heartily. “You two must be from some other world, because everyone in Thedas knows about Captain Isabela, Queen of the Eastern Seas and sharpest blade in Llomerryn. She’s got some other names too, but they’re not as flattering.” 

“You’re a pirate.” Marian was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. She may have thought Isabela looked like a teenage boy’s fantasy of a pirate, but that was a lot different from actually being on a pirate ship, with an actual _pirate captain_ sitting across from her, in the flesh—and what enticing flesh it was.

Isabela just smirked, bending to give a more subdued version of the grand bow she’d given earlier. 

“Oh my god.” Marian felt her earlier panic rising up again, though a little less overwhelming than before. “So, you’re a pirate, and there’s—there’s elves, and dwarves, and whatever those things were that attacked us in the cave…and—and _magic_ —”

“Are you sure you’re all right, sweet thing?” Isabela frowned, her gaze running over Marian once more—this time with something that almost looked like concern. “Anders didn’t miss any bumps on the head or anything, did he?”

Marian swallowed roughly, her mouth gone painfully dry again. She was almost afraid to ask. “Where exactly are we?”

“Exactly?” Varric squinted, tilting his head and pondering. “Hard to say. We’re on the Amaranthine Ocean, somewhere between Ferelden and Rivain. Apparently, we’re about to make sail for Kirkwall, in the Free Marches.” 

Well, to be fair, she hadn’t really expected the answer to make her feel any better. The fact that she didn’t recognize any of the places Varric had just listed off only confirmed what she was quickly being forced to accept. Marian looked over at Carver, who had the decency to look a little pale as well. 

“Carver, I don’t think we’re in Colorado anymore.”


	6. Chapter 6

“What is that thing, anyway?” Merrill asked, peering over Carver’s shoulder at the phone in his hand. “You’re always staring at it. Is it some sort of rune stone or something? It does get all glowy when you hold it.”

“It’s a cell phone,” Carver replied, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.

“Like prison cells? What would you use it for, I wonder? Is it a key?” 

Carver was momentarily speechless. Marian smirked and looked back down at her plate, poking at the gray-ish mixture of egg and meat with her fork. She hoped they’d find a way home soon; she didn’t think she could ever get used to Merrill’s cooking. Still, the company was entertaining.

“Not prison cells,” Carver said, finally tearing his eyes away to give Merrill an exasperated look. 

“Oh, did I miss something?” Merrill asked with a worried look. “I miss a lot of things. I usually have to get Isabela or Varric to explain them to me. A lot of the time they’re dirty, and it’s fun to hear about them.” 

Even Carver couldn’t keep moping in the face of Merrill’s boundless energy. “It’s not dirty,” he said with a small smile. “It’s just…a phone.” He held it up to show her the screen. “We use them to talk to people who are far away from us.” 

“It’s like my Eluvian!” Merrill said, her eyes widening as Carver poked at the screen. “Only much smaller. May I hold it?” 

To Marian’s shock, Carver handed the phone over with little hesitation. Maybe he was finally accepting that they would never find signal here. Merrill took the phone and turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the edges. The front of the phone shifted under her touch, and she jumped. 

“Oh no, I didn’t break it, did I?” 

“If only,” Marian interjected with a dramatic sigh.

Carver rolled his eyes at Marian. “No, you didn’t break it.” He reached over, sliding the phone open to reveal the full keyboard beneath the screen. “It’s supposed to do that. It’s easier to send text messages that way.” 

Merrill gasped in wonder as she pressed random buttons. “Like letters! Creators, this must be some very powerful magic.” 

“It’s not magic,” Carver said with a shrug. “Just electricity and radio towers and satellites…and a bunch of other stuff that you’ve probably never heard of.” 

“Oh, but I’d love for you to tell me,” Merrill said excitedly. “It might even help with my research. Please, please tell me!”

Marian chuckled, turning her attention back to her food. Her stomach turned queasily at the thought of eating anything. It had been three days since Isabela had taken them on board the ship, and her nausea had shown no sign of abating. Fresh air might have helped, but she hadn’t dared to venture on deck since that first day. The sight of Isabela propped up on the rails with Fenris between her legs was still burned into Marian’s eyelids, and she was sure it would only get worse if she went up and revisited the scene. Just thinking about it made her heart pound and her stomach lurch for reasons that had nothing to do with seasickness. 

Shaking her head, Marian brought a forkful of food to her mouth. It was bland, at least, which meant it shouldn’t upset her stomach too much. Still, she would have paid good money for a bottle of ketchup.

Merrill squeaked as Carver’s phone chimed and vibrated in her hands. “What did I do?” 

Carver snatched the phone from her, his eyes lighting up with a wild sort of hope. His face fell almost instantly. “You just sent a text,” he said dejectedly. “Or tried to, at least. There’s no signal here, so she won’t get it.” 

Just like that, he was back to brooding over his phone. Marian rolled her eyes and took another bite of food. 

“Have I done something wrong?” Merrill asked. “You’ve gone all sad and quiet.” 

Carver sighed. “It’s not you, it’s just…my girlfriend, Emily. It’s been days since she’s heard from me, and I don’t know what she’s gonna think about that.” 

Merrill smiled, green eyes sparkling. “You must love her very much.”

The edges of Carver’s mouth tugged upwards, even as anguish filled his eyes. “Yeah, I do. More than anything.”

“Oh, that’s so very romantic,” Merrill sighed dreamily, clasping her hands to her chest. 

Marian could only stare at him. For a brief flash of a moment, she could have sworn she saw actual depth in her little brother; it was disturbing. She shook her head and smirked as she raised her fork to her mouth. “Yeah, who’d have thought there was more to their relationship than sexting and making out under the bleachers?”

“Now I know I’ve missed something dirty,” Merrill said with a small frown. The look of bewilderment on her face almost made Marian laugh out loud.

Carver shot Marian a nasty look. “It’s nothing, Merrill. Like most things that come out of Marian’s mouth.” His scowl grew into a sly smirk. “She’s just jealous because I have better luck with women than she does.” 

Marian froze mid-chew, her eyes going wide. What was he thinking? They didn’t even know if there _were_ queer people in this bizarre world, let alone how they were treated. As she swallowed, she shifted her gaze to Merrill, eyeing the elf nervously as she tried to gauge her response. 

Merrill only gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone wonderful. You seem like such a nice person.” 

“Thanks,” Marian said, breathing a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t about to be thrown overboard. 

“Crap,” Carver groaned as the screen went dark.

“What’s wrong with it?” Merrill asked.

“It’s dead,” he said glumly. 

Merrill’s brow furrowed in response. “Was it alive before?”

That managed to get a halfhearted laugh out of him. “No, the battery’s dead. No more power.” 

“Can I borrow it for a bit?” Merrill asked, her eyes brightening. “I may be able to help, and it could give me some ideas for my Eluvian.” 

To Marian’s shock, Carver shrugged his assent. “It’s not gonna do me much good here. Just be careful with it.”

“Oh, I will, I promise!” Merrill smiled excitedly, rising from her seat. “I’m going to go work on it right now!” 

Moments after Merrill left the room, Isabela sauntered in, glancing back with an amused smile. “Where’s she scampering off to so fast?” 

A swarm of butterflies viciously attacked Marian’s stomach, and she stared down at her food, willing herself not to remember what Isabela had looked like in the throes of passion. Naturally, that meant it was all she could think about. Heat flooded her cheeks. 

“She’s going to work on that project of hers,” Carver offered; the amusement in his tone told Marian he was well aware of her discomfort. “The Eluvian? Whatever that is.”

“Damned if I know,” Isabela replied, sweeping past Marian’s seat to head to the stove. Marian couldn’t stop her eyes from following. “She tried to explain it to me once, but all I got out of it was that it’s some sort of magic mirror. Some long lost elven relic or something.”

As Marian watched surreptitiously, Isabela plucked a piece of sausage from the pan of food still on the stove and brought it to her lips. Marian swallowed roughly to replace the moisture that had fled her throat at the sight; it really shouldn’t be so hot watching someone _eat_. 

“Oh, Kitten,” Isabela said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “It’s a shame, really; if she spent half as much time learning how to cook as she does on that mirror, we’d all be the better for it.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Marian said weakly, staring back down at her food. Merrill had been nothing but kind to her; she felt the need to defend the girl.

Isabela chuckled. “You’re sweet,” she said, reaching out to tousle Marian’s hair before sinking into the chair next to her. “But it really is that bad. Merrill’s a sweetheart, but a cook she is not. I only let her do it because it makes her feel useful.” 

Marian could hardly hear Isabela over the roar of her pulse in her ears. She poked at her food with her fork, trying desperately to think of something clever to say. Finally she took a bite, if only to occupy her mouth and give her an excuse not to talk. 

“You know, I should probably get going, too,” Carver said, too casually. Marian’s eyes shot over to him, widening at the sadistic smile tugging at his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing, the jerk. “Fenris was gonna give me some lessons in swordplay.” 

“Mmm, and he is good with his sword,” Isabela purred. 

Marian thought she might die on the spot—hoped for it, in fact. She followed Carver out the door with her eyes, silently communicating all of the nasty, painful things she was going to do to him if she ever got the chance. 

“So,” Isabela said, leaning back in her seat, “haven’t seen you around much. It’s not that big of a ship.”

“Sorry,” Marian mumbled, steadily avoiding eye contact. “I haven’t really been feeling well.”

“Ah, so that’s it.” Isabela’s tone said plainly that she didn’t buy the excuse for a second. “And here I thought you were avoiding me because of that little show you saw.” 

That was enough to make Marian look up, stricken. “I-I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to—”

Isabela laughed. “Oh, please,” she said dismissively. “I’ve been watched before, doing much worse than that.” Her eyes took on a wicked gleam. “It’s quite fun, actually. Gives it a bit of danger and excitement.” 

“I guess,” Marian choked out, looking back down at her food.

“You didn’t look like you minded the view,” Isabela pointed out, and Marian knew if she looked up she would see that ridiculously attractive smirk on the pirate’s lips. 

Suddenly breathing was all too difficult, and her stomach felt like it was going to turn itself inside out. Not knowing what else to do, Marian concentrated on shoveling food into her mouth to avoid having to speak. 

That turned out to be a mistake; one her stomach protested violently as she ate just a little too fast. Her fork clattered against her plate as she dropped it in favor of clutching at her abdomen. 

“Balls, you really are still seasick.” Isabela stood, wrapping a strong, calloused hand around Marian’s bicep. “Come on, I know what you need.” 

Marian found she was helpless to resist.

***

Being on deck helped her nausea a lot more than Marian had expected. The fresh air, and being able to look out and see the reason for the incessant rocking, were a soothing balm to her roiling stomach. After a few minutes, she had completely lost the urge to hang over the side of the ship and retch.

The trade-off, of course, was that she was left with the giddy, anxious feeling that took up residence somewhere between her chest and her stomach whenever Isabela was around—a feeling that didn’t seem likely to fade, even if Isabela had been remarkably unconcerned about her inadvertent voyeurism. 

It didn’t help that Isabela liked to _touch_ so much. The whole time Marian had been bent over the rail, watching the waves lap at the side of the ship, Isabela had been rubbing gentle circles into her back. Her touch hadn’t quite had the desired effect; Marian could practically feel electricity sparking into her skin through the fabric of her tank top every time Isabela’s palm made contact. Now that Marian had recovered enough to turn around, Isabela’s hand slid up to scratch gently at the back of Marian’s neck, tangling briefly in dark, messy hair before she removed it entirely. 

“Isn’t that better?” Isabela asked, eyebrow quirked. She leaned back against the rail, braced on her elbows, surveying the main deck with sharp eyes. The position thrust her already considerable chest out further. Marian tried not to stare as she gave a grudging nod; instead, she followed Isabela’s gaze, laughing out loud as she caught sight of Carver.

He looked so strange and out of place standing on the deck of a pirate ship in his jeans and t-shirt, brandishing a great sword as though it were a sharp, pointy baseball bat. Fenris appeared to be offering some pointers, and Carver was nodding impatiently. Marian knew her brother; he was probably eager to just get on with it and prove himself, regardless of the value of Fenris’s advice. 

“Now, this is guaranteed to make anyone feel better,” Isabela said, eyeing them appreciatively. “Two strapping men getting all hot and sweaty and going at each other with swords.” 

“That’s my _brother_ ,” Marian groaned, shuddering. “And I should warn you, he’s way too hung up on his girlfriend to be interested.” 

Isabela shrugged. “I can still look,” she said, the corner of her mouth turning up in a sly smirk. “And you could just watch Fenris—it’s a safe bet he’s not related to you.”

Marian laughed nervously, looking down at the worn wood of the deck. “He’s not really my type.”

“Really?” Isabela purred, shifting her weight to turn toward Marian. “Do tell.” 

“He’s, uh…” Marian’s throat went dry, and she swallowed to moisten it. “He’s a bit too male for me.” 

“Ah, so that’s it then.” Isabela shook her head and chuckled. “I’ll never understand how people can limit themselves to just one or the other. That’s like…” She threw her head back, racking her brain for an appropriate analogy. “It’s like only eating mangoes and never indulging in a nice, plump sausage.”

Marian would have groaned at the obvious cliche, but she was too focused on the implications of Isabela’s words. “So, you enjoy mangoes from time to time, then?” she asked, shocking herself with how casual she managed to sound.

Isabela laughed, low and seductive. “Oh, sweet thing,” she drawled, her lips curving into an indulgent smirk. “I’ve enjoyed many things in bed—and out of it, for that matter.”

Heat suffused Marian, from her cheeks down to the tips of her toes. Suddenly her instant attraction to Isabela didn’t seem so hopeless—assuming, of course, that she could get over stammering and blushing every time Isabela so much as looked at her.

A loud clatter drew their attention back to the two men. Carver appeared to have lost his grip on his sword, and it had flown halfway across the deck with the force of his swing. He looked mortified as he went to retrieve it, and Marian indulged herself in a bit of perverse enjoyment at his expense. 

Even Isabela chuckled a little, before turning to Marian with a thoughtful look on her face. “You know, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to learn a few tricks,” she said, appraising Marian with keen eyes. “You don’t look much like the warrior type, but I could teach you a thing or two about fighting dirty.” 

Marian’s heart pounded in her chest at the thought of such close one-on-one contact with Isabela. Only an idiot would refuse. She smiled, trying her best to sound nonchalant. “I could go for that.” 

Isabela’s eyes glittered with anticipation. Marian wasn’t sure whether to be excited…or afraid.


	7. Chapter 7

Marian glared down at the strip of leather in her hands. Theoretically, the belt was supposed to wrap around her waist, leaving the daggers attached to it within easy reach to draw for battle. The problem, she was finding, was that there was no visible way to fasten the thing; the long strip of leather was attached to a thick metal ring on one end, tapering to a blunt point on the other. With a frustrated huff, she finally gave up and tied the two ends together roughly, scowling as she turned to face Isabela.

“Oh, Hawke,” her would-be tutor said with an amused chuckle. “If you needed help, you should have asked.” 

“I managed,” Marian said defensively, picking at the clumsy knot at her waist. 

Her hand was pushed aside, replaced by Isabela’s nimble fingers easily pulling apart her handiwork. “If you’re going to learn anything,” Isabela glided around to press against Marian’s back, one hand holding the ends of the belt together in front as she slid the other around to the other side, “you have to admit when you don’t know something.” 

Marian swallowed roughly, trying to focus on the movement of Isabela’s hands. The fingerless leather gloves slightly obscured her view, but she was still able to watch as Isabela slipped the leather end through the ring, tying it around itself in a deceptively simple knot. Then, just as easily, she pulled the knot apart, resting her hands on Marian’s hips to hold the belt up.

“Go on, give it a try.” Isabela’s breath was hot against Marian’s ear, breasts soft and warm against her back.

By some miracle, Marian managed to force her hands to work, clumsily guiding the leather in what she hoped was the same sequence that Isabela had demonstrated. If nothing else, it did stay together; it was more than Marian had expected, with her cheeks burning hot and her pulse racing rapidly in her veins. She could barely manage to get a damn belt on; she had no idea how she was going to survive the actual lesson.

Isabela gave Marian’s hips a gentle squeeze before sliding back around to the front to examine the knot. She gave it an experimental tug, and frowned a little when it loosened at the pressure. After a bit of judicious tightening here and there, she tucked the loose end behind the belt and stepped back.

“Your knotwork could be better,” she said with a smirk, “but we can work on that.” Her eyebrow rose suggestively, bringing to Marian’s mind all kinds of thoughts that were entirely unproductive, if she hoped to learn anything about actually _fighting_ today.

Marian looked down at the deck, concentrating on steadying her breath. She brought her hands up to hook in her pockets, but found that the daggers were in her way; instead, she opted to rest her hands on the hilts of the weapons. She was surprised at how natural the position felt. 

“Good,” Isabela said, stepping back to appraise Marian. “You’re already getting comfortable with them.” There was a whisper of steel on leather, and Marian looked up to see that Isabela had drawn her weapons. “Until you get used to working with them, though, you’ll probably want to draw them across your body.” 

Looking back down, Marian moved her hands accordingly, right hand drawing the dagger at her left hip and vice versa. It was certainly easier than trying to shift her grip on them once they were drawn. The leather wrapped around the hilts was stiff under her touch, but she could feel it warming the longer she held them. It felt strange and sort of awkward, holding actual weapons in her hands; she had expected some kind of wooden practice daggers, or something—something a little more safe than training with battle-ready blades. She chuckled to herself at the thought; as if anything with this woman was going to be _safe_. 

“The most important thing to learn about dueling,” Isabela began, falling back into a fighting stance, “is that if you have to fight, you want it to be over as quickly as possible.”

“And here I thought it was just about looking cool,” Marian joked, trying her best to mimic Isabela’s posture. 

“That’s just an added perk.” Isabela grinned, flexing her fingers around her own daggers. 

As she began to circle Marian, something in her expression shifted, hardened. Marian had a feeling this was the notorious pirate Varric had been talking about; there was still something seductive about the way Isabela’s hips rolled with each step, the predatory gleam in her eyes, the subtle curve of her mouth, but it was edged with a very real danger. This woman could probably slit someone’s throat before they even noticed she’d drawn her weapons. 

Isabela lunged forward, swiping at Marian with one of her blades; it was an easy attack, meant to offer Marian the chance to block. “It’s important to remember that when someone is coming after you with a blade,” she said, nodding her approval when Marian brought up a dagger to parry, “they mean to kill you.” Marian’s eyes widened as she felt the cold edge of Isabela’s other dagger rest gently against her throat. “You’ve got to be just as committed to killing them.” 

Marian gulped, nodding carefully to avoid being cut. She breathed a sigh of relief as the blade fell away from her throat, although her stomach churned uneasily at the implications of Isabela’s words. Could she really take a life? 

She shook her head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t likely to come to that, anyway; they were going to find this witch person, and she and Carver were going home as soon as possible. This was just for fun, so she might as well go all in with it. 

“Now,” Isabela said, splaying her arms open in invitation. “Go ahead and give it a shot.” 

Mustering her nerve, Marian tightened her grip on her daggers and surged forward, slashing wildly with the right in a downward curve that would ideally just catch Isabela’s upper arm—

—if Isabela had been there. Before Marian could even register the movement, Isabela was pressed up against her back, one arm pinning both of Marian’s to her sides as the other held a dagger to her throat.

Isabela’s low chuckle vibrated against Marian’s back. “The easiest way to avoid being killed,” she said, breath teasing at Marian’s neck, “is not to be there when your opponent attacks.” 

Marian’s cheeks flushed, not because of Isabela’s proximity so much as being so easily shown up. She hated not being good at things—it was one quality she would grudgingly admit to sharing with her brother. 

Maybe, though, there was a way out of it. Marian took stock of her position: Isabela had her arms well and truly pinned, but she also had to keep her grip on her own weapons, which meant she wasn’t holding Marian as well as she could be—and Marian had had plenty of experience grappling with Carver, who was quite a bit larger and stronger. The only trick would be to avoid being sliced by the blades.

Even as she did it, Marian knew it was a doomed idea. She pushed forward with her right shoulder, knocking the blade away from her throat, and dropped down, hoping to slip out of Isabela’s hold. Isabela’s reflexes, though, were more impressive than Marian had expected; she followed Marian down, and Marian groaned as the back of her head collided with the deck. 

“Balls.” 

Marian blinked up at Isabela, and as she followed the pirate’s gaze, she became aware of a sharp, throbbing pain in her left arm. Somehow in the midst of their grappling, she’d been caught by one of their blades. A long, deep cut ran from just under her shoulder down over her bicep, ending just above her elbow; blood was flowing freely from the wound. 

She’d never been cut like this before; until her unexpected free-fall in the cave, she’d never suffered an injury anywhere near this magnitude. She felt a little dizzy looking at it. 

Isabela, on the other hand, wasn’t fazed. “Better get you down to Anders,” she said, sheathing her daggers as she stood and offered Marian a hand up.

***

Marian wasn’t accustomed to so much blood loss; distantly, she bemoaned the fact that she couldn’t even enjoy being pressed into Isabela’s side as she was helped down the stairs to the infirmary. It was all she could do to stay upright and conscious.

A muffled voice, brimming with frustration, reached them before they made it all the way down the stairs. Marian couldn’t make out any words, but it sounded like Anders—and he didn’t sound happy.

“I’m not giving up on them!” 

Isabela pushed the door open, helping Marian through it, and Anders whirled around, his eyes flashing an unnatural shade of blue as he tried to compose his expression. There was no one else in the room.

“If you’re busy, we can always come back later,” Isabela said dryly. Anders shot her a heated glare in response, before noticing the blood-soaked scarf wrapped around Marian’s arm.

“Maker’s breath!” He rushed over to Marian, working the knot free to check the severity of the wound. At the sight of the gash, he looked up at Isabela again. “What happened?” he demanded.

Isabela shrugged. “Just a little training accident.”

“Here, come sit down,” he said to Marian, guiding her over to a familiar cot. “You should be more careful, Isabela,” he chided, holding his open palm over the wound. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“M’fine,” Marian mumbled, swaying a little. 

“You heard the girl,” Isabela said, unconcerned. “She’s fine. I’ll leave her in your capable hands—I’ve got a bit of a mess to get cleaned up.” 

Marian’s vision was starting to get blurry, but she could vaguely see Isabela’s outline leaving the room. She watched for as long as she could, disappointment stabbing at her chest as Isabela disappeared from sight. Soon enough, though, she had to close her eyes, focusing all of her efforts on staying upright. 

A warm, tingling feeling blossomed in her arm; her eyes snapped open. A bright blue light stretched across the space between her arm and Anders’ hand, and she could somehow feel her skin knitting itself back together. She’d never get used to this magic stuff. 

“There,” Anders said gently. “You’ll be all right now.” 

Marian was skeptical; she still felt on the verge of passing out. She tried to raise an eyebrow at him, but she couldn’t figure out which of the two figures kneeling before her was actually him. She felt like she was drunk, only she’d never been quite this drunk before. 

“Lie back,” he directed, guiding her down to lie on the cot. 

“Who were you talking to before?” she asked, as he wiped a wet cloth over her arm, washing away what blood he could.

He hesitated, his hand stilling. “It’s…a long story,” he finally said.

A weak laugh bubbled up in her chest. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere for a while.” 

With one last swipe of the cloth, he stood, carrying the bowl of now-murky water over to a counter built into the wall of the ship. After a moment, he spoke, his back still to Marian. “How much do you know of spirits?” 

“You mean, like ghosts?” Marian asked, furrowing her brow. 

Anders laughed. “Not really.” He turned back, dragging a stool over to sit near the cot. “I keep forgetting how strange and foreign our world must be to you.”

Marian shrugged. “It’s not so bad.” 

“Perhaps not,” he replied with a smile. He pressed his fingers together in front of him, raising them to his lips as he pondered. “Where do I even start?” Lowering his hands, he met her gaze once more. “When we dream, our minds enter a realm called the Fade. It’s a realm inhabited by spirits, ruled by them.” 

“Sounds like a blast.”

“Yes, well. Sometimes.” He frowned, appearing lost in thought again. “Mages are unique in that we can access the Fade when we are awake; it’s what gives us our power.”

“So, what does that have to do with spirits?” Marian asked, confused. “Was that who you were talking to? A spirit?” 

Anders breathed out, struggling with his answer. “Of a sort,” he admitted. “A few years back, I met a spirit of Justice. He got himself trapped in the body of a fallen Grey Warden.” 

“You mentioned them before,” Marian cut in. “The Wardens. Who are they?” 

He frowned. “It’s not important now. It’s ancient history, to me at least.” 

“Okay.” Marian shrugged. She could always ask Varric later; she’d discovered that the dwarf had a penchant for telling stories. “So, you met this Justice guy.” 

“Yes,” Anders replied. “We became friends, he and I. I told him about the plight of the mages, how the Templars keep us locked up in towers for fear of what we can do.”

Marian’s eyes widened. “That’s horrible.”

A grim smile touched his lips. “Yes, I agree—and so did Justice. He convinced me that running away from the Circle wasn’t enough—that I had to fight to free _all_ mages, not just myself.” He sighed. “But his time was limited. He couldn’t remain in a body that was steadily decomposing. He wanted to help me, help all mages, but to remain in our world he needed a host.”

“A host,” Marian repeated. The pieces clicked into place. She vaguely recalled Isabela mentioning something about a “stuffy old sod” in Anders’ head; then there was the way his eyes had flashed when they came in the room, the almost inhuman look of it. 

Anders nodded. “He offered me a solution to both of our problems. I gave him my body, and he gave me his power. Together, we hoped to change the world, to make Thedas a place where everyone could be free, mage or not.” Frustration tightened his features, and he looked down at the floor.

“So what happened?” Marian asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t expect your mission to land you on a pirate ship, of all places.” 

He clenched his jaw. “I tried to help a…friend, trapped in the Gallows in Kirkwall. Karl. I couldn’t find anyone to help me, so I went to the Chantry alone to meet him, to smuggle him out of the city somehow.”

Marian winced. “I take it that didn’t go so well?”

A bitter laugh passed his lips. “You could say that.” His eyes glittered with unshed tears. “They had already made him Tranquil—destroyed everything that made him who he was. The Templars used him as bait, to draw me out of hiding so they could capture me as well.” 

“At least you escaped,” Marian offered weakly. It didn’t seem to comfort him much.

“Thanks to Justice,” Anders said, swallowing roughly. He rolled his eyes. “And Isabela,” he admitted grudgingly. “With Justice’s help, I was able to defeat the Templars that ambushed me, but if she hadn’t taken me aboard her ship, I would no doubt have been caught before I could get out of the city.” 

“Well, but that’s good, right?” Marian said. “I mean, you wouldn’t have been able to help the mages if you’d been caught.”

“That’s true,” Anders said. “But I’ve been on board this ship for three years, just writing my manifesto and healing Isabela and her crew whenever they take on a stronger fight than they can handle.” He looked down at his clenched fists. “It’s not enough—not for me, and especially not for Justice. He thinks I should be doing more.” 

“So you were…arguing with him about it?” 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Anders replied. “But I guess that’s close enough.” 

Marian chuckled dryly. “That must be tough,” she said. “I mean, I argue with myself enough without there being a whole other person—or spirit, or whatever, in here.” She motioned to her head, surprised when the movement didn’t hurt her arm at all. It really was healed. 

A surprised smile spread across his lips, and he looked at Marian with a hopeful glint in his eyes. “It did take some getting used to.” 

“Well, I think you’re doing good here, for what it’s worth,” Marian said, looking down at the unmarred skin of her arm. She glanced back up, offering him a crooked smile. “I mean, I’m certainly glad to have you around. That’s twice now you’ve pulled me back from—well, maybe not _certain death_ , but definitely a whole lot of pain.” 

“I’m happy to help,” Anders replied. 

The glint in his eyes turned more intense, and Marian shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. She had just been trying to be friendly, that’s all. “So, how long till I can get back on my feet, doc?” she asked with a nervous smile. 

Anders reached out to stroke her arm where the wound had been, then looked up from it to examine her face. She still felt woozy, but she was healed; she didn’t quite understand the logic there, and he seemed to see that. “I healed the wound, but I can’t replace the blood you lost,” he explained. “If you think you can walk, we should head over to the galley to get you something to eat. Or if you’re not, I could always go get something for you.” 

“No, no,” Marian said quickly, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the cot. “I’ll be fine. Let’s go get some food.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Anders helped her into the galley, Varric was seated at the small, round table, and Merrill was setting a plate in front of him. Relief flooded Marian; surely Anders would dial down the intensity now that they were no longer alone. 

“Just in time, Hawke!” Varric called out, beckoning her to the table. “Daisy was just serving up some of her latest creation.” 

“Great,” Marian said, trying to sound enthused as she let Anders help her into her chair. He immediately dropped down into the one next to it, sitting just a little too close for comfort; she scooted away under the pretense of getting closer to the table. 

“Oh, I know it’s not very good,” Merrill fretted, bringing Marian and Anders each plates of their own. It looked like she’d grilled up some sort of meat, then smothered it in a thick reddish sauce filled with limp vegetables. “I tried to follow the recipe, as best as I remember it, but I was never too good at cooking when I lived with my clan, and it’s hard to find the right spices and vegetables so far out to sea.” 

“That’s okay, Daisy,” Varric assured her. “The company makes up for any fault in the food.” 

Merrill smiled, sitting down next to Varric with her own plate. “You’re very kind, Varric.” 

With some effort, Marian cut off a bite of meat and raised it to her lips. It was tough and chewy; her best guess was that it was chicken, or poultry of some sort. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t be able to eat it if she focused too much on it—she needed a distraction. “So, Varric, any good stories?” she asked hopefully.

Varric chuckled. “Oh, Hawke, have I got stories. What do you want to hear about?”

Marian pondered the question, trying not to look down at her food. She was tempted to ask him about the Grey Wardens, but Anders hadn’t really seemed excited about the subject; as uncomfortable as she was with what she was sure was his growing crush on her, it would just be mean to make him sit through a conversation about a potentially painful subject. He’d already put himself through telling her about Justice. “Well, Anders was just telling me how he ended up on Isabela’s crew. How did you, or Merrill?” 

“That’s actually the same story,” Varric replied. He took a bite of his food, his grimace barely noticeable, then folded his hands in front of him. “I guess I should start with Bartrand. He was my brother. Ambitious, but an idiot. He and I were trying to get an expedition together to head down into the Deep Roads; planned on striking it rich down there. Our only volunteers were people we couldn’t really trust, though, and we weren’t able to raise enough coin to hire good ones. I never knew how he planned to get down there without a map, anyway. Probably would have ended up caved in or devoured by darkspawn.”

“And darkspawn are…?” Marian asked, lifting another bite of food to her lips. It wasn’t so bad when you didn’t really look at it, and Varric had the kind of voice that made you want to hang on his every word. 

“Not something you ever want to meet,” Anders replied, scowling down at his own food. “Nasty buggers.” 

“Yeah, Blondie’s got the right of it,” Varric agreed. “So instead, we stayed in Kirkwall. He was the older son, so he got the pleasure of dealing with the Merchant’s Guild, while I generally just hung out at the tavern and kept my eyes and ears open. The problem with Bartrand was, like I said before, he was an idiot. He got tired of having to answer to the Guild, thought he could cheat them out of their fair share. Now, I’m no fan of the Merchant’s Guild, but I’m not stupid enough to think I could screw them over and not get caught. But I guess I got all the brains in the family, because Bartrand started doing little things: fudging his numbers, skimming a little off the top here and there. It was only a matter of time before they noticed.”

“I take it they weren’t too happy,” Marian said wryly.

Varric chuckled. “You could say that. Some street kid found him down an alley with an assassin’s dagger in his back. Not exactly the glorious end he’d dreamed of; instead of wealth and opulence, he died surrounded by rats and garbage.” He shook his head, looking almost sad. “It served him right for trying to cheat the Guild, but still. He was my brother.”

“I’m so sorry, Varric,” Merrill said, laying a hand on his arm.

“Not your fault, Daisy,” Varric replied. He smirked at her. “And you’ve already heard this story—why all the sympathy?” 

“Oh, I know, but it’s such a sad story,” Merrill said. “And you’re my friend; I only want good things for my friends.”

Anders quietly scoffed, just barely loud enough for Marian to hear. She wondered what was so bad about Merrill’s project, if it made Anders hate her so much. She frowned, then turned back to Varric. “So how does that all tie in to Isabela and her ship?”

“I’m getting to that,” Varric said, waving his hand dismissively. “Bartrand’s death left me to deal with the Guild. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except they didn’t trust me after everything Bartrand had done. Before long, I was dodging assassins myself. It was nothing I couldn’t handle, of course—I mean, I’ve got connections the Guild can only dream about. But soon it was more than just the Guild—they hired the Coterie, too, and it got so I had to sleep with one eye open, when I could sleep at all. When Isabela showed up in the Hanged Man looking for crew, I figured it was a better option than hanging around, waiting for one of those daggers to hit their mark.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marian agreed. “And how does Merrill fit into it?” 

Varric smiled. “I met Daisy when she wandered into the Hanged Man one day, trying to find her way back to the alienage.”

Marian frowned at the unfamiliar word. “What’s an alienage?” 

“It’s where the city shoves all the elves, to keep them apart from everyone else. Shitty system, but it’s better than keeping them as slaves, like the Tevinters do.”

“At least they’re free,” Anders muttered bitterly, glaring darkly at Merrill.

Merrill shifted uncomfortably and turned back to more cheerful subjects. “I wandered out too far in Lowtown and got lost. I found myself outside of the tavern, and I heard someone telling the most exciting story. There were dragons, and griffons, and heroic battles. I just had to hear the rest of it.” 

“She came in, met me, and there you have it,” Varric said with a shrug. “I looked out for Daisy while she got used to the way the city worked, and she always provided me with a captive audience. It was good for business.”

“So, you’re not from Kirkwall?” Marian turned her gaze to Merrill.

“Oh no, I was raised among the Dalish,” Merrill said. “But I…had to leave. The clan didn’t approve of my work with the Eluvian, so when Aveline came to Sundermount on her mission for Asha’bellanar, the Keeper sent me back to Kirkwall with her.”

“Aveline…is that who we’re on our way to meet?” Marian asked.

“The very same,” Varric answered. “So anyway, when Isabela agreed to take me on, I convinced her to take Daisy too. If nothing else, the Guild knew that she was a friend of mine, so she’d be a target once I disappeared. 

“The three of us ran into Blondie, here, on our way down to the docks.” Varric gestured to Anders. “Running from some Templars. Isabela was in need of a ship’s doctor, and who better than an apostate healer?”

“And we all became one big, happy family,” came Isabela’s dry, sarcastic voice from the doorway. 

Marian froze in her seat, her heart skipping a beat. 

“Isabela,” Merrill said happily, jumping out of her seat. “Would you like some food?” 

“That’s all right, Kitten,” Isabela replied, waving her back into her chair. She stepped forward, and Marian could feel her getting closer. Warm, calloused fingers came up to stroke the now-unblemished skin of Marian’s arm. “I just came down to see if Hawke was ready to get back to it.”

“She needs to regain her strength,” Anders protested, his eyes narrowing at the no doubt all-too-obvious blush on Marian’s cheeks.

“I’m fine,” Marian said quickly. She was, really; she’d managed to finish the whole plate of food, and she was feeling much less dizzy. The opportunity to be back in Isabela’s company—and away from Anders—didn’t hurt. 

“Not to worry, Anders,” Isabela said with a wink that sent shivers down Marian’s spine. “I’ll go easy on her.”

“All right,” Anders said grudgingly as Marian shot out of her seat. “Just…be careful.”

Something in his eyes told Marian that he wasn’t talking about the lessons.

***

The second round of instruction went much smoother than the first. When Marian stumbled into the galley for dinner, she was only sporting a few scratches and bruises—that she’d staunchly refused to let Anders heal. She’d never learn to be careful if she could just have all of her injuries magically healed, after all.

Of course, letting them stay only gave Carver more ammunition against her.

“The reigning champion returns,” Carver said, smirking. “Just how much blood _did_ you lose today?”

Marian glared daggers at him. “Not everyone can just swing a sword around like a baseball bat and hope they don’t miss,” she shot back. “Some fighting actually requires skill.” 

“Skill you obviously don’t have,” he laughed. 

“Don’t you listen to him, sweet thing,” Isabela said, coming up behind Marian and resting a hand against the small of her back. “This was only the first day. We’ve got a good week until we get to Kirkwall—I’ll have you whipped into shape in no time.” 

A week. Marian’s chest fluttered excitedly at the prospect of that much time with Isabela. The pirate’s hand was warm against her back, burning through the thin fabric of her tank top, and she couldn’t stop herself from imagining what that hand would feel like against her skin. Cold disappointment settled in her stomach when it dropped away as Isabela moved to take a seat at the table.

“Speaking of Kirkwall, Rivaini,” Varric piped up. “How exactly do you plan to avoid being arrested on sight?”

Isabela scoffed. “Lady Manhands is all talk—mostly.” She leaned back in her chair, casually examining her fingernails. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen the inside of a cell before. I think there’s even one with my name on it."


	9. Chapter 9

As it turned out, there _was_ a cell with Isabela’s name on it. Marian ran her fingertips over the crudely carved letters as she sat on the edge of a cot in a cell that was far too small for comfort. Of course, that may have had something to do with the fact that the cot was the only place to sit other than the floor, and her cellmate had no concept of personal space. 

Not that it was terrible, really, being tucked between Isabela and the wall, with a strong thigh warm against her own, and a soft breast pressing into her arm. Isabela was leaning back on her hands—one of which, Marian knew without looking, was inches away from her ass. It flustered Marian, made her nervous, and she didn’t do nervous well.

“So,” Marian said, channeling all of her energy into sounding casual, “does this happen often?”

Isabela shrugged, flashing the arrogant grin that Marian was quickly learning to recognize as her trademark. “Often enough. Aveline loves to see me behind bars. It’s a bit of an obsession with her, really.”

“Ah.” Marian nodded, smiling anxiously. A week of fighting lessons had gotten her somewhat comfortable in Isabela’s presence, but being this close to her was unnerving, and Marian was sure she was going to do or say something stupid.

"Aw, you seem nervous,” Isabela said with a mock pout. She waggled her eyebrows. “Is this your first time?"

Heat flooded Marian’s cheeks at the obvious double meaning. “I…can’t say I’ve ever been arrested before, no.” 

“Poor thing.” Isabela pushed forward so she could meet Marian’s gaze, lifting one eyebrow suggestively. “I could always distract you from this traumatic predicament,” she said in a low voice that left no question about what she meant.

Marian’s eyes widened, and her pulse jumped; she wasn’t sure if Isabela was being her usual flirtatious self, or if she was actually being serious. The way Isabela was leaning ever closer made Marian almost positive that it was the latter. 

So, of course, that was when they heard loud footsteps echo down the corridor outside their cell. Isabela rolled her eyes, leaning back on her hands as an imposing figure came into view. Marian tried to hide her disappointment. 

"Perfect timing as usual, Big Girl."

"Isabela." This, Marian assumed, was Aveline. Tall and muscular, with bright red hair pulled back into a tight bun behind her head and solid plate armor covering her from the neck down, the woman looked capable of snapping either of them in half with a wrong look. 

She didn’t seem to frighten Isabela, though. "You know, it's customary to wait until someone has actually committed a crime to lock them up."

Aveline shrugged, making no move to unlock the cell. "Saves time. I'm sure you've done something—and if you haven't, you're probably planning to."

Isabela pressed a hand to her chest, giving Aveline her best offended look. “I’ll have you know I’m here for a perfectly noble reason this time."

"Don't try that on me,” Aveline replied with a hearty laugh. “You don't have a noble bone in your body."

That made Isabela quirk an eyebrow, a naughty smirk spreading over her lips. "Actually, I've had several."

Aveline groaned; she’d walked right into that one. She opted to ignore it, rather than respond. “All right, what's this noble reason?"

"Aveline, meet Hawke,” Isabela said, wrapping an arm around Marian’s shoulders.

"Marian Hawke," Marian corrected, blushing furiously from the contact; it felt weird to have everyone calling her by her last name, even though Carver was the only one who still called her Marian—she assumed out of bitterness, rather than any consideration of what she actually preferred. 

The Guard-Captain eyed her carefully. "And just how did you get yourself mixed up with this poxy tart?"

Marian hesitated. "It's...a long story."

"One that would go better with less bars and more booze," Isabela helpfully pointed out.

***

“So I found them in the cave, brought them on board, and set sail,” Isabela finished, waving one hand with a flourish while she took a healthy swig from the glass in the other.

They were gathered in what Marian assumed was Aveline’s office; the Guard-Captain had taken her rightful place behind her large, ornate desk, and Marian and Isabela had each taken a chair on the other side. Isabela had helped herself to a fancy-looking crystal bottle filled with some kind of liquor, and Marian had accepted the offered glass mostly out of reflex. Aveline had staunchly refused. 

“That wasn’t that long of a story,” Aveline remarked, eyeing Isabela suspiciously.

Isabela shrugged, glancing over at Marian. “She said it, not me.”

Marian squirmed, looking down at her own mostly-full glass. “It’s just…complicated,” she said awkwardly. She took a sip of amber liquid, wincing at the harshness of it. Magic or not, they clearly hadn’t discovered the wonders of microfilters. “And kind of out there. I mean, I’m still having trouble believing it.”

“When Isabela’s involved, I’ll believe just about anything,” Aveline said dryly. Isabela blew her a kiss, waggling her eyebrows playfully, and Aveline rolled her eyes. “So why exactly have you come to Kirkwall?”

"Well, we've only got one clue as to how to get Hawke and her brother home,” Isabela explained dramatically. “A word, carved into wall above the pit they fell into."

Aveline raised an eyebrow, waving one hand impatiently for Isabela to continue.

“No respect for dramatic tension,” Isabela huffed. Nonetheless, she gave in. “Asha’bellanar.” Aveline frowned, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. A sly smile urged its way onto Isabela’s lips. “Otherwise known as the Witch of the Wilds.”

That earned some recognition. “Flemeth,” Aveline said with an uncomfortable scowl. “And you think she’s in Kirkwall?”

“Of course not,” Isabela said, tossing back the last of her drink. “I came here to see you, Big Girl.”

The scowl fell from Aveline’s face, replaced by a look of shocked disbelief. “Oh, no. Not a chance,” she said, laughing uneasily as she shook her head. “I barely survived meeting that witch once. Wesley wasn't even that lucky.”

Marian’s heart sank. If this was their best hope for getting home, it didn’t look good. An electric shock jolted through her as Isabela’s fingers nudged her own where they were wrapped tightly around her glass.

“You going to finish that, sweet thing?” Marian shook her head dumbly, and Isabela plucked the glass from her hand, taking a sip before turning back to Aveline. “Didn't you say that meeting her is what saved your life?” she asked pointedly. “And Wesley was already done for, if you’re telling it right.”

Aveline sighed, swiping one large hand roughly over her face. “What makes you think I'd even know where to find her? The last time I saw her was years ago, on Sundermount. She could be anywhere in Thedas by now.”

Isabela shrugged. “You're the only person I know who's met her and lived to tell about it. And, if we do find her, maybe she won't bite our heads off on sight if she recognizes you.”

“No,” Aveline said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

“You owe me.” Isabela raised an eyebrow, crossing her legs in front of her as she leaned back in her chair.

“For what?” Aveline scoffed.

“Does the name Donnic ring a bell?” Isabela asked. Marian was transfixed by the subtle flex of Isabela’s thigh as she idly jiggled her dangling foot. Paying attention to the conversation was definitely difficult. “I should hope it would, you sleep next to him every night.”

“Oh, and you think that's your doing.” Aveline was incredulous.

Isabela’s foot dropped back down to the floor as she leaned forward. “If it weren't for me, you'd still be throwing hideous metal sculptures at him.”

“You locked us in one of my own cells and told us we wouldn't get out until we'd screwed each other senseless!” Aveline exclaimed, her cheeks flushing as bright as her hair. She shook her head. “I still don't know how you managed to get the key from Brennan.”

A smug grin tugged at Isabela’s lips. “Just because you're immune to my charms, Big Girl, doesn't mean all your guards are,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “And it was for a good cause.”

Aveline loosed a pained groan, drawing a hand over her eyes. “The answer's still no, Isabela.”

Isabela didn’t speak, simply swirled her glass of whiskey and raised it to her lips. The smirk never fell from her face, nor did her eyes leave Aveline. She lifted an eyebrow.

“No.”

***

Victory looked good on Isabela. The triumphant grin hadn’t left her lips since they’d left Aveline’s office, with a promise that Aveline would be down at the docks just as soon as she’d managed to make arrangements for her absence. Now she leaned back against the main mast of her ship, that same grin still firmly in place, as Aveline said her goodbyes to a man Marian could only assume was her husband, Donnic.

The grin faltered, though, as something occurred to her. “That sodding prig and her need to see me in a cell,” she grumbled unhappily. “I didn’t even get to visit the Rose.” 

“The Rose?” Marian asked, standing awkwardly off to the side with her thumbs tucked in her back pockets. Her daggers—she supposed they actually _were_ hers, as strange as that was; Isabela had made sure she always had them on her—hung at her hips, feeling much more natural now than they had a week earlier. 

“Only the best damn brothel in the Free Marches,” Isabela said wistfully. 

“The Blooming Rose is nothing but a haven for immoral and criminal behavior,” Aveline said sharply as she emerged from the gangplank. 

“Oh come now,” Isabela tutted. “It’s not illegal to have a good time. Unless you’ve managed to accomplish that, in between shutting down free enterprise and prosecuting victimless crimes.” 

“Shut up, whore,” Aveline snapped, adjusting her grip on the pack slung over her shoulder. It was a sharp rebuke, but Marian could swear she heard some small amount of affection in it. “Now where am I to sleep? I hope it’s far away from your cabin, though I doubt the lack of a bed has ever stopped you.” 

Isabela grinned. “You’ve got that right, Big Girl.” She waved Fenris over; he moved to take the pack, but Aveline shrugged him away. “Fenris will show you to the crew’s quarters. Welcome aboard the _Siren’s Call_ ,” she said with an overly dramatic flourish. 

Aveline reluctantly followed Fenris, muttering quietly to herself along the way. Words like “whore”, “poxy tart”, and “makes us even” drifted over to Marian before the pair disappeared belowdecks.

“She never can say no to me,” Isabela sighed smugly. “But then, not many people can,” she added, quirking an eyebrow suggestively at Marian.

That fluttering feeling returned to Marian’s chest, and she crossed her arms over her ribs in a futile attempt to contain it. “You didn’t have to call in such a huge debt just for me and Carver,” she said, her voice tinged with self-conscious guilt. 

Isabela chuckled. “Don’t read too much into it, sweet thing,” she said, slinging an arm around Marian’s shoulders. “I like a good adventure, and I never pass up an opportunity to mess with Lady Manhands.”

Her arm felt warm and heavy on Marian’s shoulders, her breast pressing against Marian’s arm; this close, Marian could catch the scent of salt and spice that lingered on Isabela’s skin, and she found herself struggling to remember how to breathe. It was torture of a most enjoyable kind.

Luckily—or not, depending on how one looked at it—the moment was short-lived. Varric rushed up off of the gangplank, as quickly as his legs would carry him. 

“Captain, we've got a problem.” He seemed rattled; Marian didn’t think she’d ever seen him look that way—and he called Isabela _Captain_. 

Isabela stiffened and withdrew her arm, meeting him halfway across the deck. This was clearly serious. “What is it, Varric?”

He shifted uneasily, his hand idly stroking the shaft of his crossbow over his shoulder. "Castillon's in town."


	10. Chapter 10

“Shit.” Isabela paced the quarterdeck, her eyes scanning the coast rapidly disappearing behind them. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Before the words had finished leaving Varric’s mouth, Isabela had jumped into action, calling out orders crisply and clearly to all who would listen—and the crew _listened_. They worked like a well-oiled machine, hoisting sails and pulling anchor and doing all sorts of things that Marian still couldn’t quite understand. They’d made it out away from the docks, and back through the narrow channel between those creepy bronze statues Varric called “The Twins”, in what Marian thought must be record time. 

That didn’t stop Isabela from pacing, swearing quietly to herself as she watched nervously behind them for what Marian assumed must be Castillon’s ship, though none had yet appeared. 

“I take it Castillon’s not a friend of yours?” Marian asked meekly. 

Isabela sighed, shifting her gaze to Marian—though it still flickered nervously behind them every now and then. “I work for him. Or, I did.” 

“What happened?” Carver asked; he’d joined them on deck when the excitement started.

“I botched a job,” Isabela said, frowning at the memory. “Castillon got pissed, wanted me to steal some Qunari relic to make up for it. I was going to do it, too, but Varric managed to talk some sense into me.”

“Qunari?” Marian was starting to lose track of how many things she didn’t know about this world. 

“They're not the kind of people you want to piss off,” Varric supplied.

Isabela let out a frustrated huff, moving to the aft rail and squinting into the distance. “Anyway, he's been riding my ass ever since,” she said over her shoulder. “I was hoping to collect enough shiny things to distract him from slitting my throat. That's where that dagger comes in, but I doubt that it alone is enough to make up for what he could have made from the relic—” She glanced back, and her expression darkened. “—or the cargo I liberated to begin with.”

“Liberated?” Marian wasn’t sure she wanted to know where this was going.

“Slaves,” Fenris chimed in, snarling around the word. His arms were crossed stiffly over his chest as he leaned against the rail. “He lured them in with the promise of safe passage from the Blight. He took their money, but he never intended to save them. They would all be slaves to Tevinter magisters by now if Isabela had not freed them.” 

“It was disgusting,” Isabela spat with a shrug. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Not anyone,” Fenris corrected. “I have known plenty of people with more cause and less to lose who stood by and did nothing while people were bought and sold before their eyes.”

His distaste for the topic shone through as clearly as his respect for Isabela; Marian shifted uncomfortably on her feet, suddenly feeling like a jerk for wanting Isabela when she so clearly had some kind of thing going on with him.

Isabela raised an eyebrow at him. “You're just biased because I saved your ass too.”

Thin lips quirked into the tiniest hint of a smirk. “I would have saved myself,” he protested. “But your assistance is appreciated nonetheless. Regardless, my personal benefit does not diminish what you did for those people and their families.”

The praise clearly made Isabela uncomfortable. “Can we get back to the more important matter of getting our asses out of here? I'm not eager to rush this reunion.”

***

“So where are we headed?” Carver asked at dinner. They’d managed to go hours without a hint of Castillon’s ship, though it hardly made any of them more comfortable; Isabela was still obviously anxious. This was the first time she’d even dared go belowdecks since they’d left Kirkwall.

“Val Royeaux,” Isabela replied, paying little attention to the plate of food in front of her. Her entire body seemed taut with tension, her movements stiff and jerky. For a woman usually so thoroughly at ease, it was an unsettling look. “I never liked Orlais, but Big Girl over here—” She gestured to Aveline. “—remembers some dwarven merchant’s son talking about a ‘scary old lady’ who talks to him in his head.”

“A demon, more like,” Fenris muttered darkly. 

“He’s a dwarf,” Anders snapped caustically. Marian thought she saw his eyes flash blue for a split-second. She hadn’t seen the two men interact much—though if this was an example of what happened when they did, that was probably a good thing.

“Does…that mean something?” she asked, hoping to distract them from the tension.

“Dwarves don’t interact with the Fade,” Anders replied. His expression softened when he looked at Marian, only to turn sharp once more as he glared pointedly at Fenris. “They can’t. So it’s not a demon.”

Fenris scowled, but otherwise didn’t respond. 

Marian turned her attention back to Isabela. “And you think it’s this Asha’bellanar person?” 

“Best lead we’ve got,” Isabela replied with a shrug.

“I checked around in the Merchant District, and Bodahn and his son packed off for Orlais about a year ago,” Aveline said, in between bites of food. “With luck, they’ll still be there. Maybe Sandal will have some clue about how to find her.”

Isabela was clearly distracted; she halfheartedly took a bite of food before pushing away from the table. “I’d better get back on deck.” 

She disappeared out the door, and an ache blossomed in Marian’s chest as she watched her go. More than anything, she was starting to think of Isabela as a friend; she wished there was something she could do.

***

The next few days were tense, to say the least. Marian saw little of Isabela; when she wasn’t on deck barking orders, Isabela was holed up in her cabin with Varric discussing strategy. It became clear all too quickly that Marian was only getting in the way; she didn’t know anything about sailing, except for the little bit she’d managed to pick up from watching everyone else work, and now wasn’t the best time to be learning.

Instead, she found herself spending most of her time in the galley, playing cards with Fenris, Carver, and Aveline, or helping Merrill with the meals. It turned out that her few years of bachelor experience, living alone with her IKEA spice rack, had made something of a decent cook out of Marian. Better than Merrill, in any case. 

The kitchen was one place where having mages on board was really useful. Marian had heard horror stories of the kind of food sailors had been forced to eat, back before modern marvels like electricity and refrigerators, but that wasn’t a problem here; Merrill had set up a rather ingenious system involving frost runes that kept a good deal of food preserved indefinitely, so they never had a shortage of fresh vegetables or meat—although the variety left something to be desired. 

At first, Marian tried just offering Merrill a hint here and there, but the girl’s mind was perpetually drifting back to her mysterious mirror thing, and it was clear she wasn’t going to retain the information. It fell to Marian, then, to take charge of cooking, though she still let Merrill help. They were both in the same predicament, really, wanting to pitch in any way they could in exchange for Isabela’s help with their respective causes; she couldn’t fathom taking away the one thing Merrill felt she did that was helpful. 

Not that Isabela noticed much; when she did venture belowdecks for a meal, it was eaten quickly and with great distraction. Even her flirtatious banter was subdued, though Marian doubted it could ever be completely gone. One thing was clear: this Castillon guy was definitely bad news.

***

“Oh, good, you’re here.”

Marian’s heart leapt into her throat at Isabela’s sudden appearance. She’d gotten so used to Isabela being scarce that she’d stopped being on her guard all the time. 

“What can I do for you?” Marian asked too-casually, staring intently at the stew bubbling on the stove. 

“I could give you a list,” Isabela replied suggestively, stepping further into the galley. Marian smiled to herself; Isabela almost sounded like her old self, seductive and carefree, and it was enough to distract Marian from the anxious fluttering in her stomach at Isabela’s suggestion. 

She came up beside Marian, dipping a finger into the stew and bringing it to her mouth. An indulgent moan left her lips at the flavor, causing heat to pool in Marian’s belly. “That’s _good_ ,” she said, surprise evident in her voice.

“I’m just glad I can help somehow,” Marian said, fighting a blush. 

“That, sweet thing, is exactly what I came to talk to you about,” Isabela said, tapping Marian’s arm with her fingertips. “We’ve spotted Castillon’s ship.”

Marian forgot about avoiding Isabela’s gaze, looking sharply up at her with wide eyes. 

“Don’t look so scared,” Isabela said with a laugh. “The _Siren’s Call_ is the fastest ship on the ocean, except maybe those Qunari monstrosities. We can easily outrun him, for a while at least. The important thing is that now we know where he is.”

“Ah,” Marian said, her shoulders sagging in relief. “So, how can I help?”

Isabela quirked an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at her mouth. “For now? Be on deck first thing in the morning. We’re starting up your lessons again; Castillon will catch up to us eventually, and I won’t have anyone on my ship who can’t defend themselves.”

“Oh—okay.” Marian nodded. It would be nice to get back to that; she’d found herself missing the adrenaline rush of sparring with Isabela. 

“We can talk about what else you can do for me later,” Isabela said, winking slyly at Marian as she turned to head back on deck.

Marian shivered and turned back to the stew, unable to fight the grin that forced its way onto her lips.


	11. Chapter 11

Marian’s heart pounded hard against her ribs as she and Isabela circled one another. Her left hand flexed around the hilt of her dagger while her right caressed the cool glass of the flask tucked into her belt. 

For all her efforts, Marian couldn’t get anywhere near as fast as Isabela. While Isabela had assured her it was purely a matter of practice, the fact remained that they were running out of time. If nothing else, they were sailing toward a dead end; once they reached Val Royeaux, they would be surrounded by land on all three sides—then Castillon wouldn’t even have to try to catch up to them. 

The solution, temporarily at least, was a thing called a miasmic flask. “If you can’t fight quick, fight dirty,” Isabela had said. “And even if you can fight quick, it’s good to have a trick up your sleeve.” 

She played Isabela’s instructions over in her head as she watched Isabela move, keeping her dagger up for a quick defense. _You’ve got to lock your eyes on your target._ Done—Marian didn’t think she could take her eyes from Isabela if she tried; she wondered if there was something wrong with her for finding someone so sexy when they were hypothetically trying to kill her. 

_Burn their position into your mind, then throw the flask._ Marian watched Isabela closely as she brought her dagger up, feinting forward as if lunging in for an attack. The split-second where Isabela’s eyes darted down to her weapon was the opportunity she needed. She pulled the flask from her belt, hurling it down at Isabela’s feet, and it exploded with a bright flash, followed by a cloud of smoke that made it nearly impossible to see.

_Your eyes won’t do you any good, but neither will theirs. Remember where they are. Listen for movement,_ feel _the air shift around you._ Marian tried not to cough at the smoke, focusing on the place she’d last seen Isabela. She heard the faint scuff of boots on wood, and turned toward the sound as quickly and quietly as possible. 

_With practice, you’ll be able to slit their throat before the smoke clears._ Well, she wasn’t trying to _kill_ Isabela, but it wouldn’t hurt to win a match against her for once. There was a whisper of movement to Marian’s right; she whirled around, her free hand reached out to connect with Isabela’s chest, and she shoved. 

Isabela slammed against the main mast, and Marian brought her dagger up to clink against the ornate gold necklace protecting Isabela’s throat. 

“Not bad,” Isabela said approvingly as the air began to clear. 

Marian looked down to see Isabela’s hands at her sides, still closed around the hilts of her daggers. She raised her eyes to Isabela’s, accusation clear in her gaze. “You let me do that,” she panted. “Didn’t you?”

A coy smile curved Isabela’s lips in response. “A lady never tells,” Isabela said, arching an eyebrow. 

“What does that have to do with you?” Marian shot back with a bold smirk.

The laugh that bubbled up in Isabela’s throat was low and rich, resonating deep in Marian’s belly. “Fair enough,” Isabela conceded. In the blink of an eye, she switched their positions, and Marian found that she was the one pinned against the mast. 

They were both breathing hard. Between the exertion and the smoke, getting enough oxygen had been a challenge. Their chests pushed against one another as they sucked in air, and Marian couldn’t help but notice how close they were; she didn’t think she could get away if she tried, with Isabela’s hips pinning hers in place. For that matter, she couldn’t imagine why she would try. 

“You want to go another round?” Isabela asked, pressing forward with her arm across Marian’s chest. Marian found herself transfixed by Isabela’s lips, by the glint of gold underneath them; she swallowed, but no words would come out. Those lips curved up, and Isabela let out a soft, sultry chuckle. “Or did you have something else in mind?” 

Marian’s gaze shot up to lock onto Isabela’s. Amber eyes had gone dark, almost black, and Marian was all too aware of Isabela’s knee between her thighs, keeping her pinned against the mast. She sucked in a labored breath, realizing as she did so that she was breathing in Isabela’s own exhalation. Their faces were inches apart; it would be all too easy to close that distance, to know once and for all what Isabela tasted like. 

It must have been clear what Marian was thinking, because Isabela didn’t give her a chance to deliberate. She gasped against Isabela’s lips as they descended on her own, pressing in a way that was both teasing and hungry all at once. She heard the distant clatter of metal on wood as their daggers fell to the deck, but she didn’t care; the only thing that mattered right now was Isabela’s fingers tangling in her hair, Isabela’s tongue sliding against her lips. 

To try to put words to what Isabela tasted like would be futile; the only thing that came close to describing it was _freedom_. This was no hesitant first kiss on the schoolyard; Isabela knew what she was doing, and what she wanted—and, impossibly, what she wanted was Marian. 

The hand not buried in Marian’s hair fell to her hip, teasing at the edge of her tank top, and the only thing Marian could think to do with her own hands was brace herself, clutching at Isabela’s waist and shoulder as she eagerly returned the kiss.

Isabela’s thigh pressed forward, and hot sparks raced out from between Marian’s legs, flooding her belly. She had to have more. She ground down into the firm muscle with a wanton moan, blunt fingernails digging into Isabela’s flesh as she tried desperately to get closer. 

“Mm,” Isabela hummed against Marian’s lips. She grinned, and Marian could feel it against her jaw as Isabela trailed hot kisses down to her throat. “The Hawke has talons,” she purred into Marian’s pulse point.

Marian’s head dropped back against the mast, eyes shut as she savored the feeling of sensitive flesh being pulled between Isabela’s lips and teeth. Her heart was racing so fast she thought it might burst from her chest. Calloused fingertips slipped under her tank top, grazing over bare skin, and Marian let out another moan, this one not suppressed by Isabela’s mouth but ringing out clearly across the deck. 

The sound made Marian aware of a dozen others: the flapping of sails in the wind, the thud of ropes banging against the mast, the scuff of boots on the deck. Her eyes shot open; none of the crewmembers were looking their way—they were probably used to this, Marian thought—but now that she was aware of them she couldn’t go back to ignoring their existence.

“Maybe,” she gasped, her hand tightening on Isabela’s shoulder. “Maybe we should move this inside?” Her cheeks burned—both from desire and from the courage it took to make such a brazen proposition. She was almost sure she knew where this was leading, but almost wasn’t usually enough to make her throw caution to the wind and assume. 

Isabela chuckled into the curve of Marian’s shoulder, fingertips dancing over the bottom of her spine. “Not one for an audience, are you?”

Marian whimpered as Isabela’s nails scraped just under the waistband of her shorts. “Not really,” she managed to reply, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and biting. 

Then Isabela was gone, ducking down to collect their weapons. She sheathed her own, slipped Marian’s into the scabbard resting against a hip that was crying out at the loss of her hand, and sauntered toward her cabin. Marian was momentarily paralyzed, chilled by the absence of Isabela’s warmth, but then Isabela stopped and peered over her shoulder. The look on her face was pure sex, and Marian felt her mouth go dry, all of the moisture in her body retreating to pool between her legs. 

Legs that, with some amount of coercion, managed to carry Marian across the deck, perhaps a little too fast. She closed the distance in seconds, and Isabela—with ever-quick reflexes—spun around just in time to be pinned to the door of her cabin. Marian giggled a little, delirious with lust, and mumbled an apology into Isabela’s shoulder.

Isabela responded by tangling her fingers in Marian’s hair, pulling her back just far enough to capture her lips in a kiss that was as ardent as it was quick. “Never apologize for being eager, sweet thing,” she purred, reaching behind her to twist the latch on the door. 

They tumbled into the cabin, and Marian had a split-second to register that this was the first time she’d been in here before Isabela had her backed up against the closed door. Isabela returned her attention to Marian’s neck, this time nipping her way up the other side of it, and Marian let out a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. 

Past Isabela, she could see the only part of the room that meant anything to her at the moment: a large, plush bed, adorned with pillows and blankets in rich shades of blue and gold. It looked more than welcoming, and Marian shivered with the knowledge that they were almost definitely on their way there. 

A terrible thought wormed its way to the front of her mind. She knew at least one other person who had no doubt been in that bed, who no doubt would be again. She tried to push the thought out of her mind, to focus on how good Isabela felt pressed against her, but her conscience wouldn’t let it go. 

“What about Fenris?” she asked, cursing herself even as the words left her lips.

Isabela just chuckled, sliding warm hands under Marian’s tank top. “What about him?” Her mouth drifted lower, nibbling at Marian’s collarbone, tracing the edge of her sports bra with a hot tongue. 

Marian shuddered. “I thought you and him were…”

“Oh, he's definitely good at what he does,” Isabela said, hiking Marian’s shirt up. Her nails scraped along Marian’s ribs, sending shivers racing across her skin. “What's your point?”

With Isabela’s teeth nipping at her cleavage, and strong fingers dragging around to her back, Marian was finding it hard enough to stay standing, let alone think. “I—I can’t remember.” 

Suddenly, Isabela stilled her hands and pulled back, searching Marian’s face warily. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?” she asked. “Because if you’re looking for more than a good time, you’ve got the wrong girl.” 

Marian swallowed roughly, heart pounding; she didn’t want this to stop. It was clear, had been clear all along, that this was just about sex. What more could it be, really? Assuming they managed to evade Castillon, they were well on their way to getting her and Carver home. Whoever coined the term “long-distance relationship”, Marian was pretty sure this wasn’t the kind of thing they had in mind. 

It was only sex, and judging from the way Marian’s skin already burned from Isabela’s touch, it promised to be some of the best sex she’d ever had. She’d be a fool to turn it down.

“The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen has her hands up my shirt,” Marian drawled, meeting Isabela’s eyes with a heated look. “Why on earth would that bother me?” 

Isabela grinned. “Good,” she purred, hooking her fingers around the edge of Marian’s tank top and quickly sweeping it over her head. She leaned in close, her breath brushing against Marian’s lips as she smirked. “Because I can promise you a _very_ good time.”

Somehow, Marian found herself being spun around and backed toward the bed. Her calves hit the edge of the mattress and she fell back, landing amidst a pile of pillows in various shapes and sizes. She reached back to curl her fingers around one, pulling it under her head as Isabela trailed searing kisses down her belly. 

When she reached the fly of Marian’s shorts, Isabela paused; the button came loose as easily as she might have expected, but she seemed surprised when the zipper came apart with the barest of pressure. “Well,” she murmured approvingly, tugging the shorts down over Marian’s hips along with her underwear. “If you’re going to wear pants, at least they’re easy enough to get into.” 

Marian’s chuckle quickly turned into a groan as Isabela climbed up to straddle her naked hips. The stiff leather of Isabela’s boots pressed into her thighs, and she had enough presence of mind to kick off her sandals. Isabela reached for her bra, slipping sure fingers underneath the elastic and pulling it over Marian’s head. When she was done, Isabela leaned back on her calves, tugging her gloves off as she raked her eyes over what she had revealed.

She should feel vulnerable, Marian thought, lying here naked with Isabela fully clothed on top of her, but she was drunk on sensation, and on the knowledge that this was really happening. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of this, lying in her hammock in the crew’s quarters every night. The reality was so much better than her imagination could have come up with, and Isabela had barely started.

Isabela seemed intent on fixing that, running her newly-bare hands up Marian’s sides to palm her breasts. With a wicked smirk, she lowered her head, drawing one nipple between her teeth as her fingers teased the other.

“Fuck,” Marian groaned, reaching for Isabela’s head on instinct. Her fingers skidded over the silky blue fabric covering Isabela’s hair; frustrated, Marian tugged it off, tossing it to the side and burying her hands in thick dark hair. Without the covering, Isabela looked somehow softer; the sight was far more intimate than the show Marian had witnessed not two weeks before. 

Then Isabela sucked hard, teeth scraping over the hardened flesh in her mouth, and Marian’s eyes slammed shut, her nails dragging along Isabela’s scalp as she swore again. 

Marian was never one for a lot of bedroom talk; it made her feel silly, self-conscious. “Fuck”, though, could convey a remarkably wide variety of things. It seemed to work well enough for Isabela, who grinned into Marian’s breast as she pulled another repetition from Marian’s lips.

Soon, it was the only thought in Marian’s mind—the only word she could form. Isabela blazed a path down Marian’s body with her mouth, until she hovered just above the juncture of Marian’s thighs. By the time Isabela slid her tongue over slick flesh, sinking her fingers deep, Marian was beyond even that thought. 

The word spilled from her lips over and over as she reached up to clutch at the pillows around her head, her hips jerking up to meet Isabela’s thrusts of their own accord. She lost count of how many times Isabela drove her up and over the edge. It got so that she couldn’t distinguish between them anymore; there was just an endless, continuous wave of pleasure wracking her body until finally she started to ache. 

“God,” Marian groaned, reaching down to tug at Isabela’s hair. “Fuck, Isabela, stop,” she whimpered. 

Isabela obliged her, though she just couldn’t resist one last flick of her tongue. Marian winced at the intense pleasure-pain that shot through her at the contact. 

“You are so fucking good at that,” Marian gasped, falling back against the pillows. She glanced down to see Isabela crawling up her body, a smirk on her glistening lips and an eyebrow raised pointedly. Marian had a feeling Isabela knew exactly how good she was.

“And you,” Isabela said, leaning in to press a wet, languid kiss to Marian’s lips, “have got quite the dirty mouth.” 

Marian moaned at the taste of herself on Isabela’s lips. When Isabela pulled back, she shrugged, offering a crooked smile; she had no defense for that, after all. 

Isabela just grinned, looking more aroused than ever. “Let’s see what else you can do with it,” she purred. 

A thrill ran down Marian’s spine at the prospect of finally being able to touch Isabela; she brought her hands to slide up bronzed thighs, intent on flipping them over. Isabela’s hands closed around her wrists, pinning them back down into the mattress.

“Uh uh,” she chided, tracing Marian’s upper lip with her tongue. Damp fingertips slid almost affectionately down Marian’s cheek. “I’m always on top, sweet thing.”

Almost before Marian even had time to process her meaning, Isabela crawled farther up the bed, until her thighs pressed at either side of Marian’s face. Marian groaned, nearly overwhelmed by both the powerful scent of Isabela’s arousal and the understanding of what, exactly, Isabela was asking of her.

Isabela’s thighs were warm and firm under Marian’s hands as she slid them up, pushing at the hem of Isabela’s tunic until she could run her tongue along the damp black fabric separating her from her task. Isabela shuddered, and her thighs trembled, and Marian felt…powerful. Except…

“There’s a slight problem,” Marian said, tugging at the fabric with her teeth. 

The remark was met with a sly smirk and a hooded gaze. Isabela produced a tiny knife from—well, Marian wasn’t quite sure where. “I’ve got more than one pair,” she explained dismissively when Marian hesitated.

Well, that was one way around it, Marian supposed, taking the knife and slicing carefully through the sides of the garment. Slowly, teasingly, she drew it out from between Isabela’s legs, tossing it and the blade aside. 

Then Isabela lowered her hips, and nothing existed for Marian but Isabela, surrounding Marian, flooding her senses. Nothing but the sharp tang of her arousal, the slide of slick flesh against Marian’s lips and tongue, the way she ground wantonly down into Marian’s mouth until it became almost impossible to breathe—but Marian didn’t care, so intent was she on drawing those delicious sounds from Isabela’s throat. 

As it turned out, Isabela was less of a talker than Marian had expected; she opted instead to voice her approval with urgent moans, little gasps of pleasure when Marian hit a particularly sensitive spot. She offered some guidance at first, little tips like “harder”, “lower”, “a bit to the left”; then Marian snaked her hand around Isabela’s hip to slide two fingers into her from behind, and Isabela’s advice devolved into “yes” and “there” as she clenched hot around them. 

It didn’t take long for Isabela’s thighs to tighten and tremble against Marian’s cheeks, for her hands to slam hard against the wall, holding her upright as she shuddered out her release with a wanton cry. Marian kept going, set on matching Isabela’s determination, until Isabela finally rolled off, collapsing on the bed next to her. 

Isabela panted beside her, struggling to catch her breath, and Marian couldn’t have kept the smug grin off of her face if she’d tried. She rolled onto her side, looking down at Isabela as the dampness on her skin dried in the cool air. 

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Marian said with a mock pout as she reached out to toy with the laces of Isabela’s bodice. “Here I am, lying naked in your bed, completely at your mercy, and you’ve barely taken anything off.”

“I’m a pirate, sweet thing,” Isabela said with a lazy chuckle. “I don’t do fair. If you want these clothes off of me, you’ll have to get them off yourself.” 

Marian grinned, taking advantage of Isabela’s momentary exhaustion to swing up and straddle her hips. “Is that a challenge?”

“That depends,” Isabela replied, dragging her fingertips up Marian’s bare sides, then back down to her hips. She arched an eyebrow. “Are you up for it?”

The grin on her lips only widened; Marian leaned down, opting to answer with a deep, plundering kiss. That was one challenge she didn’t think she could ever refuse.

***

Marian must have dozed off at some point, because she found herself waking up to find Isabela seated on the edge of the bed, pulling on her boots. The scent of sex still lingered in the air.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, propping herself up on an elbow as a lazy grin stretched her lips. 

“On deck,” Isabela replied, with a brief glance over her shoulder. Her voice was strangely devoid of seduction—all business. Something vague flashed across her face as Marian met her gaze, and she turned back to her boots. “Got a few things to take care of. You can rest here as long as you like.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut as Isabela’s earlier words echoed in her mind. It was just sex, she reminded herself. Really, incredibly, mind-blowingly good sex. She felt a tight pull in her groin just watching the sway of Isabela’s hips as she exited the cabin, even though she lacked the energy to do anything about it. 

Collapsing back against the pillows, Marian let the smile creep back onto her lips as she drifted back to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

When Marian awoke again, she was decidedly alone. The sunlight filtering through the curtains over the one small window in the back had softened, suggesting that she’d slept through lunch and was well on her way to missing dinner as well. Isabela had exhausted her, that was for sure.

Yawning, she pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the bed and stretched, savoring the tight pull in well-worked muscles. The grin that never quite left her lips—even in sleep—spread wide once more at the memory of all the things she’d done to cause that soreness. She reached up to comb her fingers through her hair, catching the smell of sex that lingered on her hand.

That had really happened; it hadn’t been some feverish fantasy dreamed up while she swayed in her hammock, willing herself to ignore the sounds of snoring and shifting from the rest of the crew. More than anything, Marian wanted to run out on deck—to find Isabela, and touch her and kiss her and prove to herself beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was real, that Isabela really wanted _her_ —

Except Isabela wanted a lot of people—and it had only been sex, after all. For all Marian knew, now that Isabela had gotten what she wanted, she might be moving on to her next conquest. She barely knew the woman, really.

Never mind the giddy fluttering in Marian’s chest that insisted she’d like to know Isabela a lot better, would love to spend days just learning what made her tick. Those were ridiculous thoughts, probably brought on by the heady rush of finally giving in to the attraction that had threatened to overwhelm her.

Better to play it cool. Marian hunted down her clothes, taking her time in tugging them on. She wrapped her weapon belt around her waist, now practiced at tying the knot so it wouldn’t come loose. It hung on her hips comfortably, as if it had always been there, or was always meant to. She slid her hands over the hilts of the daggers, smiling softly to herself. Even if Isabela _had_ let her get the upper hand earlier, she was still a lot better than she was a week ago. She was learning, and given time, she could probably be a pretty good fighter.

Her smile tightened and fell away; too bad she didn’t have that kind of time. Maybe when she got home, she could look into fencing lessons or something. It wouldn’t be the same, but it’d be something.

Marian shook her head. She could deal with that when she got home. For now, she was going to make the most out of her time in this incredible fantasy world. She pulled open the door to the cabin, breathing in the sea air as she looked out at the crew bustling around the main deck.

Isabela and Varric were over by the forecastle, deep in conversation. Bronze skin glowed under the fading afternoon sun, highlighting the gentle flex of muscle as Isabela crossed her arms, uttering something Marian was too far away to hear. Varric nodded and walked away, but Marian hardly noticed, because suddenly Isabela was turning her way, meeting her gaze.

Heart pounding in her throat, Marian just stood there, staring back at Isabela as she tried to figure out what to do. Even from across the deck, she could see that Isabela had tensed. She probably expected Marian to fall besotted at her feet and confess her undying love; Isabela seemed like the sort of person who might inspire that kind of thing—and it wouldn’t be that far off the mark, Marian realized with chagrin. If nothing else, she was definitely in love with what Isabela could do to her. A little shiver shot down her spine at the memories.

It wasn’t lost on Isabela; the look of guarded uncertainty on her face gave way to a slow, smug grin as she raked her eyes unabashedly over Marian’s body. Isabela’s voice was in her head, that sultry drawl reminding her that Isabela had seen all of her, had touched her with fingers and lips and tongue, and Marian wanted nothing more than to drag Isabela back into the cabin and pick up where they left off.

A loud rumble jolted Marian out of her decidedly pleasant daydreams; her stomach had taken the opportunity to remind her that as nice as sex would be, food was slightly higher on her list of priorities. Besides, it wouldn’t do to seem too needy.

Marian willed her grin to fade into a confident smirk and nodded casually to Isabela before turning toward the stairs. If Isabela wanted her, she wouldn’t be hard to find.

***

“Oh good, you’re here,” Merrill said with a frazzled sigh. “Creators, I’m hopeless at this.”

Merrill was stirring what looked ominously like the stew Marian had tried her first day on board. Marian rushed over to help, taking the wooden spoon Merrill eagerly offered her and eyeing the spices lined up next to the stove.

“You’ve been spending time in Isabela’s cabin, haven’t you?” Merrill asked with a knowing smile.

Marian stopped stirring and looked up, her mouth falling open a little. The motion made her face ache, and she realized that her mouth had been frozen in that giddy grin again.

“Oh, there’s no need to act so surprised,” Merrill said, touching Marian’s arm gently. “It’s not like it was a secret.” A look of shock flooded her face, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, unless it was! Was I not supposed to say anything about it?”

“No no, it’s okay, Merrill,” Marian said quickly, holding up her free hand to cut Merrill off. “Chill. I just didn’t really expect you to—”

“To know what was going on?” Merrill chuckled. “I’m not as naive as people think. I just don’t always understand the way humans talk about things.” Her smile turned—for lack of a better word— _naughty_ ; it was a look Marian hadn’t seen before on the normally innocent-looking elf. “So, was it nice? I’m sure it must have been. Isabela’s so wonderful in every other way.”

“So you’ve never…?” Marian trailed off, cocking her head; she didn’t know why she hadn’t considered it before.

“Oh, Creators, no!” Merrill said, eyes wide as she laughed. “Isabela’s my best friend, but I don’t think of her in that way. I don’t think she thinks of me that way either, although I suppose it’s possible. She does seem to think of a lot of people in that way.” She frowned a bit, her brow knitting together. “Oh, that would be awkward.”

The rapid pace of Merrill’s thoughts was dizzying, and Marian turned back to the stew with a fond chuckle. There was a jar of what she had figured out was pepper among the spices; she reached for it, tilting some into the pot.

“Enough about me though,” Merrill said slyly, nudging at Marian’s shoulder. “You never answered my question.”

Marian chose not to mention the fact that Merrill hadn’t really given her the chance; a decision that was at least in part due to the grin that was stealing over her face again. “Yeah, it was nice,” she said, heat flooding her cheeks.

“Oh, good,” Merrill sighed dreamily. “I’m glad. You seem like a kind person. The sort good things should happen to.”

A dry chuckle escaped Marian’s lips. “I guess,” she said with a shrug. “It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. It was just sex.” Marian was all too proud of how casual she managed to sound; one might almost be convinced that she hadn’t been going over the words in her head ever since she woke up.

Merrill frowned. “She’s still got that silly rule, then,” she said grumpily. “I wish she’d be more open-minded.”

Marian laughed, reaching for something she'd decided was rosemary. “I don’t think her mind could get much more open, Merrill.”

“Oh, I know she’s very accepting, and she’s certainly open to a lot of things,” Merrill said. “But in all the time I’ve known her, she’s always shied away from anything having to do with her heart. She won’t even say she cares about me, though I know she does.” Her lips pursed sadly, and she sighed. “I can’t blame her, I suppose. After being married to that terrible man…”

Whoa. Marian froze, turning wide eyes to Merrill. “She was married?”

Merrill shook her head, clasping her hand to her mouth again. “I shouldn’t talk about it. It’s not my story to tell, really, and it was a long time ago.”

Before Marian could press for more details, Carver came tromping loudly into the galley.

“Food ready yet?”

The distraction gave Merrill just enough opportunity to slip away and sit with Carver at the table, and Marian sighed; she’d have to find out more about this mystery husband later.


	13. Chapter 13

“I’m out,” Marian sighed, slapping her cards face down on the table. She thought she’d finally gotten the hang of Wicked Grace, but somehow even when she managed to build a decent hand, Isabela produced something better. 

“And the Rivaini wins again.” Varric sounded anything but surprised as he tossed his own cards toward the center of the table. She hadn’t won every round, but she’d won enough.

Isabela leaned back in her seat and shrugged, a smug look on her face. “What can I say, Varric? Some people are just naturally lucky.” 

“Luck,” Aveline snorted, pulling the cards into a neat pile. “That’s what it is.” 

Marian nudged her own failed hand closer to make the cards easier to collect, surreptitiously glancing sideways at Isabela, who wore an expression of practiced innocence.

“What else would it be?” Isabela asked.

Aveline scoffed. “Don’t give me that,” she said, shuffling the cards. “It’s obvious you’re cheating. Although where you would find the room to hide cards in those scraps of fabric you call clothing is beyond me.”

“Ooh, someone’s getting grumpy,” Isabela replied, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. A wicked smirk curled her lips. “Been a bit too long since Donnic explored your Deep Roads?” 

“Shut up, whore,” Aveline responded in a tone that Marian had come to recognize as grudgingly affectionate.

“I think you’re just bitter because you can’t even beat me in a game of chance.” Isabela said, slinging an arm over the back of Marian’s chair as she leaned back again. She’d been doing things like that all evening—nudging Marian’s thigh with her own under the table, letting her hand linger against Marian’s while passing cards. It was just the way Isabela was, Marian knew—she’d seen her be just as familiar, if not more so, with nearly every other member of the crew—but with the memory of everything they’d done earlier that day, it was…distracting, to say the least. Not that Isabela seemed to notice; she didn’t even seem conscious of the fact that her fingertips were idly dragging over Marian’s shoulder as she spoke. “Just admit it, Big Girl, you’re jealous.”

Aveline’s expression was somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “Ha! Sure, I’m jealous of all of the various diseases you’ve no doubt got residing in your nethers.” 

Marian tensed a little; she hadn’t given that any thought. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual, and she’d certainly investigated very thoroughly, but who knew what kind of freaky magical diseases this world had?

“I’ll have you know I’m checked regularly.” Isabela quirked an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at Anders.

“It’s true,” he reluctantly agreed, looking entirely displeased with the topic of conversation. 

Relief trickled into Marian’s chest; she should have known that a world with magical diseases would also have magical cures. She sagged against the back of her chair, blushing when her back pressed firmly against Isabela’s arm. 

Aveline looked about as pleased with the subject as Anders did. “I’ve made a good life for myself. A good man, a good job, a place to live. Stability.” Isabela shuddered, and Aveline raised an eyebrow. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about, I’m sure. There’s not enough coin in the world to make me want to take on your life.” 

“Speaking of coin,” Isabela said, deftly changing the subject. “Why don’t we make this a bit more interesting?” She withdrew her arm from Marian’s chair, pulling a coin pouch from somewhere—Marian wasn’t sure exactly where, and she’d even seen Isabela undress completely—and plunking it down on the table. “If your life is so great, surely you’ve got a bit of coin for a friendly bet?” 

Aveline shook her head. “I could beat you any time, in any _fair_ competition,” she said pointedly. “Unless it involved sex or drinking enough liquor to knock out a cow.”

“You’d know,” Isabela cracked. Aveline just glared. “Well, Big Girl? How about putting your coin where your mouth is?” 

“Oh no,” Aveline replied with a knowing look. “I know better. The day you play fair is the day I’ll retire from the Guard to stay at home and knit little booties for all of the squalling children I’ll plan to have.”

“I think you and Donnic would have adorable children,” Merrill said earnestly, missing the point entirely. 

Isabela laughed. “Not as adorable as you, Kitten.” She glanced around at the rest of the table. “So, who’s up for making this a real game?” 

Merrill’s excited smile melted into a frown as she patted her sides. “Oh, I’ve lost my coin purse!”

“Again, Daisy?” Varric asked with a chuckle. He reached into the pouch at his own belt and slid a small pile of coins toward her. “You’ve gotta keep better track of your stuff.”

“I know,” Merrill sighed. “I’ll try. Thank you, Varric. I’ll pay you back with some of my winnings.” 

Varric laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Isabela will probably clean us all out anyway, as usual.” 

“Don’t be so sure of that, Varric,” Anders said with a determined edge in his tone. He set his own coin pouch on the table, and Marian thought she caught a devious glint in his eye. “Everyone’s luck runs out some time.”

“If you say so, Anders,” Isabela said dismissively. “How about you, Fenris? You in?”

Fenris shrugged in response, dropping some coins onto the table in front of him. 

That left Marian and Carver. There was a sinking feeling in Marian’s chest as she met her brother’s eyes. “I guess we’re out,” she sighed, trying not to show her disappointment. “Somehow I don’t think our ATM cards would work here.”

“Here,” Anders offered quickly, pulling a small stack of silver coins out of his pouch and sliding it in front of Marian. He gave her an earnest smile. “You can owe me.” 

The words settled uneasily in Marian’s stomach; she already kind of owed him her life, and she really didn’t want to give him any encouragement. “I don’t know…” 

“Oh, come on, sweet thing,” Isabela said, slipping her arm around Marian’s shoulders. With how close she leaned in, her chest pushed against Marian’s arm, and Marian could smell the salt and sweat of her skin. “If I don’t win it from you, I’ll just win it from him. Either way, it’s my coin in the end. You may as well have some fun with it.”

Heat flooded Marian’s chest, and her pulse throbbed in her ears. She didn’t want to give Anders hope by accepting his loan, but she also _really_ didn’t want this evening to be over yet. Isabela’s fingertips traced the strap of her tank top, and Marian caved. “Okay,” she said, reaching out to slide the coins in front of her. 

Anders smiled, but his gaze flicked toward Isabela’s hand on Marian’s shoulder, then up to Marian’s flushed cheeks, and his eyes flashed with a combination of understanding and disappointment. 

Good. Maybe he’d finally get the message that Marian wasn’t interested.

“If you’re all set on turning this into a waste of more than just time,” Aveline said, pushing away from the table, “I’m done for the night.”

“I guess I’m with her,” Carver said, reluctantly moving to follow Aveline out the door. 

“If you wish to continue playing, you may have some of my coin,” Fenris offered.

Anders stared as Fenris slid a pile of coins Carver’s way. “Why would you do that?” he demanded.

Fenris glanced at him dismissively. “I have my freedom. I have no need for coin.”

“Right,” Anders scoffed. “You’re probably just buttering him up so you can start some kind of anti-mage army.” 

“Such a thing already exists,” Fenris spat back. “It is called the Chantry, and I believe their Templars are quite skilled at bringing mages to heel. A pity you seem to have evaded them.” 

“Now, boys,” Isabela cut in before Anders could respond. “If you can’t play nice, you’ll have to take this up on deck. Preferably naked.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll bring the oil.” 

Both men shuddered and looked away. 

“Let’s just play the game,” Anders said with a scowl.

***

“I’ve got five of a ki—oh!” Merrill’s triumphant grin fell from her face as a poorly-concealed card fell from her sleeve. Her pale cheeks flushed bright red.

“Oh, Kitten,” Isabela said with a fond chuckle. “If you’re going to try to cheat, you’ve got to be more subtle than that.” 

“Coming from one who’d know,” Anders sulked. His pile had dwindled considerably, despite the fact that Marian had managed to win enough to pay him back. 

“Drat,” Merrill said glumly. “I’m all out of coin.” Before Varric could move to offer her more, she shook her head. “It’s all right, Varric. I should go work on the Eluvian anyway.” 

Marian watched Merrill disappear through the door, then looked back at her own meager pile of coins. She’d been doing a little better, but Isabela was still clearly ahead of all of them. Marian thought she was catching on, though; she’d started to notice how Isabela would toy with her necklace or glance down at her nails when she thought she had a good hand—or when she was cheating. A few more hands, and Marian might just have Isabela figured out enough to start winning against her.

***

“Full house,” Marian said, laying her hand down with a victorious grin. Her hand inched toward the large stack of coins in the center of the table, only to be covered by Isabela’s.

“Not so fast, Hawke.” Isabela laid down her own cards with her free hand. “Four of a kind.” 

Marian gaped at the cards, trying to understand what had just happened. She hadn’t seen any of Isabela’s tells; the pirate had given absolutely no indication that she had anything better than mediocre, only calling the bet and never raising it. 

Isabela quirked an eyebrow, mischief dancing in her amber eyes, and Marian groaned. It had all been an act, from the very start—a way to make her feel confident enough to bet the last of her coin—and it had worked. 

“Well, I’m out,” Marian said, defeated. Anders had bowed out several hands ago, after Isabela had leaned in to murmur a raunchy joke in Marian’s ear and Marian had flushed redder than her shirt—and even if he’d still been there, she didn’t think she wanted to borrow more coin from him anyway. She attempted to pull her arm back so she could get up and leave, but Isabela’s hand tightened over her own.

“Not necessarily.” Isabela raked her eyes over Marian’s seated form. Marian felt heat blossom low in her belly, and something in her clenched at the playful desire in Isabela’s gaze, but she was still confused. 

“I’m out of coin,” Marian said dumbly. 

The grin on Isabela’s lips only widened, teeth flashing in the low lamplight. “There are always other things you can bet.”

Marian panicked a little, her gaze darting around the table to take in the varying degrees of discomfort on the faces of the other players—except for Varric, who looked all too excited about the prospect of having a story practically handed to him pre-written. Surely Isabela didn’t mean sex—not that Marian would necessarily mind, but that seemed more like a game to be played in private, without an audience—especially one that included her _brother_.

“Oh, you are precious when you’re flustered,” Isabela purred. “I’m talking about clothes, sweet thing. You’re wearing enough for a few rounds, at least.”

“Oh,” Marian sighed. Wait—that wasn’t much better, not with her brother sitting right there. She shook her head. “I don’t think—”

“Maybe you’re right,” Isabela cut in. A challenge flashed in amber eyes. “We should just call it a night.” She leaned back, stretching in an exaggerated way that drew Marian’s eyes to her chest. “It’s hard work staying ahead of Castillon. We all need our rest.”

“No!” Marian protested, almost before she even thought it. She’d never backed down from a dare once, not even an unspoken one—she wasn’t going to wimp out now. “No, let’s play.” 

Isabela grinned. 

“That’s my cue to turn in,” Carver said with a groan, grabbing his coins and pushing out of his seat. “There are some things I don’t ever want to see. Or even think about.” He shuddered on his way out of the room, but Marian was too distracted by the warmth of Isabela’s thigh against her own to care.

Turning her attention to Varric and Fenris, Isabela raised an eyebrow in question. They both shrugged their assent; they still had decent piles of coin in front of them, after all.

“Wait,” Marian said after everyone else had put their ante in. “This doesn’t really seem fair. You’re all still betting with coin.” 

“You’ll just have to win some back, then,” Isabela said with a smirk. “Now ante up.” 

Marian considered her options before tugging off her tank top, tossing it on top of the pile of coins in the center of the table. She lifted an eyebrow, flashing a smirk of her own at Isabela. “I think it’s your deal.” 

A low chuckle left Isabela’s lips, and the chill against Marian’s bare skin was quickly replaced by heat under the woman’s roaming gaze. Even after Isabela turned her attention to the cards, the warmth lingered, pooling between Marian’s legs as she watched skilled hands shuffle the deck.

Her heart sank as she saw the hand Isabela dealt her. There was little chance of redeeming it, but she really didn’t relish the idea of getting even more naked in front of Varric and Fenris—who at least had the decency not to raise the bet. With a sigh, she traded in cards, hoping almost desperately for something to turn it around. 

It was futile; Isabela laid down a five of a kind with relish, pulling her winnings toward her to a chorus of disappointed groans. 

“Hey!” Marian protested as Isabela pulled out a tiny blade and neatly severed one of the straps of the tank top. “That’s not usually the way strip poker works.” 

Isabela smirked, slicing through the ring of fabric to make a long strip. “Well this is Wicked Grace, sweet thing, and I like to keep my winnings.” With deft fingers, she tied the cloth one-handed around her right bicep. 

Marian stared in shock and disbelief. Finally, she shook her head. “That was my only shirt!”

“If you ask nicely, you can have the rest of it back when we’re done playing,” Isabela replied, setting the vandalized shirt down next to her generous pile of coin. She arched an eyebrow. “Unless you’re backing out.”

“Of course I’m not backing out,” Marian scoffed, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “But if you keep that up, I’ll have to walk around the ship naked.”

“Mm,” Isabela purred. “Now there’s a thought.”

The heat that suffused Marian at Isabela’s words had absolutely nothing to do with embarrassment, and everything to do with the way Isabela was looking at her, like playing cards was the last thing she wanted to do on that table. 

“I think we’ve already established that you don’t need to destroy my clothes in order to see me naked,” Marian said with a smirk. She was a little shocked by her own boldness, but something about Isabela made her feel both confident and nervous at the same time; it was weird, but she was finding that she liked it. 

The laugh that sounded in Isabela’s throat was low and husky, and did things to Marian that made her forget all about the fact that they had an audience. “Fair point,” Isabela conceded, her voice thick like honey. A wicked smile curved her lips as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against Marian’s cheek. “But a little destruction can be fun.”

Suddenly all Marian could think about was Isabela’s underwear, lying ruined and forgotten in the corner of her cabin; it set off a cascade of other thoughts, memories of the way Isabela felt and smelled and tasted, and Marian bit her lip, inhaling sharply to suppress a moan. 

Varric cleared his throat loudly, glancing pointedly at Fenris as he swept his remaining coin into his pouch. “Well, Broody, this seems to be turning into a party for two—and I don’t think we’re invited.” 

Fenris glanced over at them with a hint of a bemused smirk before collecting his own coin and following Varric out the door. The door closed behind them with a loud click, and Marian swallowed hard as she turned to face Isabela. 

“So,” Isabela said in a sultry voice, reaching for the cards. “Your deal or mine?” 

Marian licked her lips, breathing deeply to steady herself as she covered Isabela’s hand with her own. “Why don’t I just go all-in now and save you the trouble?” 

Isabela chuckled and abandoned the cards, sliding rough fingertips up the length of Marian’s arm. Distantly, Marian remembered that there was something she’d wanted to ask Isabela about, but then hot lips were on her neck and the thought disappeared completely.

It couldn’t have been that important anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

The crew quarters were empty by the time Marian woke the next morning. She’d slept later than usual; by the time she and Isabela had finally stumbled out of the galley, faint morning light had begun to creep down the stairs from abovedecks. 

A grin spread lazily over Marian’s lips as she maneuvered her feet onto the floor, swaying a bit in her hammock. Her fingers wandered up to her left shoulder, toying with the jagged edge where the strap of her tank top used to be. She wondered if Isabela was still wearing it on her arm, then shook her head. It was a pointless thought, just as it would be pointless to let herself get attached to someone when she was leaving as soon as they could figure out how to get her and Carver home. 

Still, there was no harm in having a little fun while they waited for that to happen. The grin came back full force, and Marian stretched as she pulled herself to her feet.

The sound of footsteps outside the door drew Marian’s attention; whoever it was, it sounded like they were trying to be quiet and failing miserably. Moments later, the door creaked open and Carver warily poked his head in. Merrill peered over his shoulder.

“Good, you’re here,” Carver said, slipping inside and waiting for Merrill to do the same before closing the door as quietly as possible. When he turned back, Marian could see the panic and fear on his face. Beside him, Merrill had her hands clasped tightly in front of her. 

“What’s going on?” she asked as they rushed to her. 

“Shh!” Carver held up a hand urgently. “They don’t know we’re down here.”

“Who?” Marian demanded, more quietly this time. A sick feeling was starting to churn in her gut. 

“Castillon caught up to us,” Merrill chimed in softly, eyes wide with worry.

Shit. If they were down here, that meant the reunion couldn’t be going well—if it was even still going on. What if everyone else was dead? What if Isabela—

“Chill, your girlfriend’s okay,” Carver said wryly. 

“She’s not—” Marian stopped and shook her head, pressing her palms against her eyes before swiping her fingers through her hair. “What’s going on up there?” 

“Castillon and his men boarded a little while ago,” Carver explained in a hushed voice. “They managed to overpower Isabela and the crew.” 

“And you didn’t go up there and fight with them?” Marian smacked him hard in the chest. 

“He’s got a _lot_ of men, Marian,” Carver said heatedly. “And I’m not that good of a fighter. I’d probably just have gotten myself killed, and that wouldn’t have helped anyone.”

Marian pursed her lips, crossing her arms tight over her chest. He was right; she hated when he was right. Her irritation was quickly overtaken by panic, though, at the thought of what was happening right above their heads.

“He seemed to want the crew alive,” Carver said, almost reassuringly. “He’s trying to get some kind of information out of Isabela or something. I thought I’d round up what backup I could before trying to go up and help.”

With shaking hands, Marian pulled her weapons belt from its hook by her hammock, hastily securing it around her waist. Some backup she’d be; she’d only managed to best Isabela the day before because Isabela had let her—how was she supposed to hold her own in a real fight, especially one where the odds were already stacked against her?

“Who have we got?” Marian asked hopefully.

Carver rubbed at the back of his neck. “Uh, we’re it.” 

“Shit.” She turned and paced a little. “Unless you’ve learned a hell of a lot more from Fenris than you’ve let on, we don’t stand a chance.” 

The sound of Merrill’s throat softly clearing stopped Marian in her tracks. She turned to see a wary, hopeful smile dawning on the elf’s face.

“I might have an idea.”

***

Adrenaline burned through Marian’s veins as she slid quietly up the stairs, poking her head up just enough to survey the deck. _Shit_. There really were a lot of them; enough to match Isabela’s crew one-to-one, and have several men leftover to stand guard against the rails. A dozen bodies or so were scattered around the deck, some gasping for air as they bled out while others lay still in dark crimson pools—a testament to the fact that Isabela and her crew hadn’t been overpowered without a fight. Off to one side, grappling hooks secured the _Siren’s Call_ to a large, flashy looking ship that floated not too far away.

None of that mattered to Marian, though; all she saw was the man holding a wicked dagger to Isabela’s throat. His dark hair was slicked back and shining with grease, his scraggly beard pressing against the side of Isabela’s face. 

To her credit, Isabela looked more bored than scared, though she was clearly still on alert, body tense as sharp eyes scanned the deck for escape opportunities. Another man, this one more clean-cut and almost attractive in a way, was pacing back and forth in front of her, gesturing in an increasingly agitated manner. This was obviously Castillon. Marian was just a little too far away, and his accent was too thick; she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but it was clear that he wasn’t pleased by Isabela’s responses.

Ducking back down, Marian turned to Merrill. “You’re up,” she mouthed, shifting to the side to let Merrill creep up the stairs. She shared an uneasy look with Carver, crouched on Merrill’s other side.

Merrill held up her hands, turning her face up toward the sky. Her thin frame seemed to vibrate with energy, and in moments Marian heard the sharp crack of thunder. Seconds later, a bright flash of lightning struck the deck, inches away from where Castillon had been about to step. He and his men were startled, but they were clearly not convinced that this was an act of nature—their gazes shot around, seeking out the source of the magic.

Before they could spot Merrill’s head poking up from behind the stairs, more lightning arced through the air, several bolts at once striking randomly around the deck. Some hit a human mark, but most dissipated harmlessly against the wood; Merrill had explained beforehand that she didn’t want to risk hurting their friends, so the magic would be more of a distraction than anything else.

A distraction that Marian needed to take advantage of, and quickly. She slid her daggers out from their sheaths, hands clenching around the hilts as she braced herself. She nodded to Carver; gripping his sword tightly in both hands, he stormed onto the deck, slashing wildly at the men who rushed at him. 

Marian slipped on deck behind him, ducking behind a row of barrels while everyone else was preoccupied with either Carver or the lightning that continued to assault the deck. The distraction was enough to allow some of the crew to break free, and the brawl that ensued was enough to allow Marian to creep around the edges of the fight, making her way to where Isabela was still held firmly in place by her captor. 

They’d discussed this before setting their plan in motion; Castillon was the important one. If Marian could somehow take him out of the equation, it might be enough to turn the battle in their favor. Cut the head off the snake, or whatever. Still, something ached in her to ignore the man pressing a knife to Isabela’s throat, instead focusing her attention on the one whose sharp eyes were fixed on Isabela’s even as he barked orders at his men.

From her hiding place behind a water barrel, Marian watched for her opportunity. Castillon’s voice lowered as he advanced on Isabela, and Marian’s fingers flexed impatiently around one dagger as she slid the other back into its sheath. 

“Isabela,” Castillon said almost fondly, his eyes flashing with malice. He seemed unconcerned about the electricity that singed the air around them. “Stop this nonsense. Tell your men to stand down. All you need to do is tell me what I want to know and you can all be on your way.” He glanced to the side. “Well, all except for your little elf friend. Her magic will fetch a good price in Tevinter.” 

Marian followed his gaze to where Merrill stood at the center of a raging storm. Lightning struck down all around her, keeping Castillon’s men at a distance while Carver, Fenris, and Aveline slashed away at them, joined by the few other crew members who’d managed to free themselves. Anders and Varric had broken free and were perched atop the quarterdeck; Varric was shooting bolt after bolt into whatever enemy he could get a clear shot at while Anders scanned the deck, alternating between sending bolts of energy at Castillon’s men and healing their own from afar. 

Isabela, rendered immobile by the blade at her neck and the beefy arm holding hers in place, did the only thing she could do: she spat at Castillon, hitting him square in the cheek. “You won’t lay a finger on Merrill, or any of my crew. Whatever it is you think I know, I don’t.”

“Ah, always the fighter, no?” Castillon said, a sinister smile curving his lips. He calmly reached up to swipe the spit from his cheek, pointedly wiping his hand on Isabela’s tunic. “You will tell me,” he said coldly, sliding the blade of his own dagger along the side of Isabela’s face. “No matter what I have to do to inspire you to talk.”

Frantically, Marian looked back at the rest of the crew. They seemed to be holding their own, but they were clearly on their way to being overwhelmed. Some of Castillon’s men were scaling the sides of the quarterdeck, intent on putting a stop to Varric’s sniping, and the others were being backed into corners in every direction. 

Palm sweating, Marian fumbled at her belt for the flask she’d tucked there. Her fingers slid over the glass the first couple of times before she got a good grip, closing her fist around it. _Burn their position into your mind, then throw the flask._ She ran Isabela’s words on a loop in her head, trying to keep her breathing steady as she planned out her attack. 

A sharp cry resounded across the deck, and Marian glanced over to see that the lightning had ceased; Merrill was running out of energy, and they were all running out of time. 

With a deep breath, Marian hurled the flask to the deck at Castillon’s feet, then lunged.


	15. Chapter 15

The fog made it impossible to see, but Marian’s memory of where Castillon was standing proved reliable, and she slammed into his back and threw her arm around him, slashing wildly at his throat. In that moment, she didn’t care about the moral implications of killing someone—all that mattered was stopping this man and saving Isabela. 

Unfortunately, his reflexes were a bit too good. Her dagger caught on his throat, but only just; a shallow cut dragged along his skin before he knocked her hand away, whirling on her and plunging his own blade into her side.

Marian’s eyes went wide with shock, and she clutched at the front of his shirt with her free hand. It didn’t hurt, or maybe the pain just wasn’t important. With Castillon’s dagger still embedded in her flesh, Marian slammed her own into his gut, trying to remember what Isabela had taught her about angling the blade up under the ribs and twisting. 

A choked, gurgling sound erupted from his throat, and as the fog began to clear, Castillon fell to his knees at Marian’s feet. His blade jerked in Marian’s side before it slid free and fell to the deck with a dull clatter. Marian’s weapon joined it as her fingers went slack, palms pressing instinctively to the wound in her side. She looked up from the dying man to see both Isabela and her captor staring in disbelief. 

The sight of his boss bleeding out in front of him proved enough of a distraction for the man holding Isabela; his arms went slack just enough for her to slip out of his grasp, quickly turning the tables on him.

“Call your boys off, Velasco,” Isabela said, her voice as sharp and cold as the blades she held to his throat.

The man—Velasco—scoffed. “I will never surrender to the likes of you, Isabela. It is you who should surrender to me.” He leered at her. “If you are very nice, I will let you live—as my personal slave, of course.”

Isabela’s eyes narrowed as she pressed her blades into his skin, just enough to draw blood. “Your captain is dead,” she pointed out, sparing the fallen man a disdainful glance before locking her eyes onto Velasco’s once more. She arched an eyebrow. “Whatever he thought he was after, is it really worth dying for?” 

Velasco wavered, glancing frantically around the deck for backup, but several of the men had already seen Castillon fall and surrendered. The tide had turned and he knew it. He let out a defeated sigh. “Stand down!” His voice shook as he called out to the men still fighting. One by one, as they saw the lifeless body of their captain, the men lowered their weapons.

“Very good,” Isabela purred, her tone seductive in the most dangerous of ways. Her expression hardened as she forced him back toward the rail. “Now get off of my ship.” 

He called out the order to retreat, and Marian whimpered as her legs finally gave out. She sank onto her knees on the deck, clutching her side as blood continued to seep out between her fingers. The adrenaline was wearing off, and she was starting to feel the pain. 

“Hawke!”

She couldn’t tell who had called out her name, but suddenly Anders was at her side, slipping one hand around her waist while the other pressed firmly over her own, pouring healing energy into the wound. He let out a frustrated sigh as he cut off the flow of magic and looked up at Isabela. “I need to take her below. This is going to take more than a quick spell.” 

Marian was too weak to argue as Anders scooped her into his arms to carry her belowdecks. Over his shoulder, she caught sight of Isabela staring after them with a furrowed brow, her eyes shining with an intensity that struck Marian to the core. Her expression was a jumbled chaos of confusion, shock—and maybe even a little concern?

Sagging against Anders’ shoulder, Marian willed herself to stop over-analyzing it. There would be time later to find out what that look meant; for now, she was just glad the battle was over.

***

“That was stupid,” Anders admonished as he dragged a damp cloth over the blood spattered across Marian’s face. Healing her wound had taken a bit of work, but she was all in one piece—once again thanks to Anders. “Trying to fight Castillon all by yourself.”

“I didn’t have a lot of other options.” Marian grimaced as she pushed herself up to rest against her elbows. “I had to save I—all of you,” she fumbled, looking down at her now thoroughly ruined tank top. The normally bright red fabric was stained dark with blood, and there was a jagged hole where Castillon’s dagger had sliced through it. 

Anders pursed his lips, brow knitting together. “She’ll only break your heart, you know,” he warned, rinsing the cloth in a bowl of warm water before swiping it gently down her neck.

Marian grabbed it out of his hands and forced herself into a sitting position. “My heart has nothing to do with this,” she said as she wiped the blood from her chest.

He laughed, dry and a little bitter. “Please. I saw the way you looked at her before. It’s only going to get worse now that you’ve…” he trailed off, struggling with finding the right words.

“Fucked?” Marian offered, enjoying the mildly scandalized look on his face. 

“Been intimate,” he corrected, pursing his lips. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before dropping his hand to Marian’s knee. His eyes met hers earnestly. “Look, I’m not trying to meddle, all right? I just…I’ve seen this happen before. Isabela doesn’t do attachment. Once she realizes you’ve got deeper feelings, she’ll cast you aside just like all the others before you.” He paused, an intensity growing in his eyes that made Marian all kinds of uncomfortable. “You deserve better than that.” 

“Like you?” Marian shot back with a dry chuckle, trying to hide her unease. 

Anders frowned. “That’s not what—”

“Listen, Anders,” Marian said, cutting him off. She reached for his hand, plucking it from her knee and squeezing it before nudging it back toward him. “You seem like a nice guy. The whole ‘there’s a spirit living in my head’ thing is a little weird, yeah, but from what I’ve seen you’re okay.” She ran a hand through her hair, clutching the blood-stained cloth in the other. “Here’s the thing, though: I’m not into guys. At all. You’d have a better chance trying to get into Fenris’s pants.”

The horrified look on his face was almost worth the awkwardness of the situation. “I would never—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Not the point.” She took a deep breath, preparing herself for blunt honesty. “The point is, who I might have feelings for is none of your business, because it’s never gonna be you.” 

“I was only trying to help,” Anders said feebly. 

Marian dropped the cloth back into the bowl of murky water, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. She braced herself against his shoulder briefly before she found her balance. “I don’t want your help.”

She could practically feel his wounded gaze follow her out the door.

***

Isabela was in danger. She was scared; Marian could see it in the frantic roaming of her eyes, in the rapid rise and fall of her chest as Velasco held her arms firmly behind her. Castillon held a wickedly curved dagger to her throat.

Marian had to help, had to do something, had to stop him. Her pulse pounded a heavy tattoo in her ears as she crept around behind the man. Through the fog, she could make out the shape of him, could reach around and feel his neck under her blade. 

He turned, and then fire seared through her abdomen. She couldn’t think; she could only react. His flesh parted easily at the tip of her dagger, and blood spilled hot over her hand as she forced it deeper. The fog cleared as he fell to the deck, his face contorted in agony as death slowly claimed him. She looked down to see his blade sliding out of her, and pain shot through her as her knees hit the hard wood. 

There was so much blood. It poured from Marian’s side, joining the growing pool of her victim’s blood. Soon the deck was slick with it, stained red as it flowed over the sides of the ship.

The last thing she saw was Isabela, amber eyes wide with shock.

***

Marian woke with a start, her hammock swaying violently beneath her. Her breath came in stunted gasps as she tried desperately to calm down. She reached up to run her fingers through hair that was unexpectedly damp. Furrowing her brow, she tried to grasp at the fading memory of her dream; had it been intense enough to make her sweat that much?

The answer came in the form of a drop of cold water hitting her square in the forehead. As her heart rate slowed, she became aware of the insistent pattering of rain against the deck above her head. Not sweat, then.

After she’d stumbled out of the infirmary, Marian had made her way to the crew’s quarters and collapsed into her hammock, falling asleep almost instantly. She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but it hadn’t been enough; she still felt the heavy haze of exhaustion threatening to overtake her once again.

Turning her head, Marian covered her face with her arm and closed her eyes once more. She willed herself to slip back into what would hopefully be a dreamless sleep. It was easier than thinking about what had happened today, what she’d done.

A drop of water fell to hit her arm, followed quickly by another as the storm intensified. Marian let out a disgruntled sigh. Sleep clearly wasn’t going to happen.


	16. Chapter 16

It was dark as Marian stepped out into the hallway. Water trickled down the stairs, running in little rivulets down the wooden planks beneath her feet. There was meager illumination coming from the stairwell, where light from the full moon managed to break through the heavy storm clouds Marian could barely make out through the opening. Down the hall, there was light of another kind, a warm glow flickering beneath the door to the galley. 

Her stomach chose that moment to gurgle unhappily, reminding her that she’d slept the afternoon away, and missed breakfast before that. The galley seemed as good a place to go as any, and much warmer and drier than trying to venture on deck.

“Hawke!” Merrill said happily as Marian stepped into the room. “You’re awake. I was a bit worried when you slept so long, but Anders said you needed your rest.” Her eyes widened, and she clapped her hands together in front of her. “You must be hungry! Can I get you some food?” 

For a moment, Marian just stared, overwhelmed by Merrill’s enthusiasm. Finally she nodded, flashing a weak attempt at a smile. “Sure, Merrill. Thanks.”

“Have a nice nap?” Carver asked with a smirk as Marian sank heavily into a chair, resting her elbows on the table and pressing her palms into her eyes. “Being a hero must be really exhausting.”

“Yeah,” Marian snapped, raising her eyes to glare at him unamused, “who needs Ambien when you could have a sucking gut wound instead?”

“Whoa, I was just joking.” Carver put up his hands in mock defense. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the hammock,” he grumbled quietly to himself. 

Marian sighed. As much as he irritated her sometimes, it wasn’t Carver’s fault she had all these thoughts racing around in her head. “Sorry,” she said wearily. “Waking up to Chinese water torture doesn’t put me in the best of moods.”

Carver shrugged, apparently accepting her apology. “Crazy storm, huh? Came out of nowhere. You’d think we’d have seen clouds or something earlier, but it was totally clear up until a few hours ago.”

“Oh, it’s not a natural storm,” Merrill supplied, stirring a pot on the stove. “I’m afraid it’s my fault, actually,” she said with a sheepish smile. “Magic doesn’t just come from nowhere, you know. Most mages just get their power from the Fade, but the Dalish have learned to draw on forces already in nature to give our spells a little extra boost. The only downside is that when you pull nature out of balance, sometimes it pushes back.” 

Marian couldn’t concentrate on the rambling explanation Merrill launched into, about magic and nature and how summoning the magical lightning storm earlier had provoked a real storm. It all faded into background noise as she stared at the table, memories creeping into her mind as she slowly became more awake. 

She had killed a man. Never in all her life had she ever expected to take someone else’s. It was an idea so far removed from her day-to-day living that the very thought of it almost made her laugh. Except she had done it; she had killed him, felt the dagger go into him, seen the look in his eyes as the life left them. She could still smell the blood, still feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her heart hammering in her chest. 

It would be natural to feel guilty—expected, even—but the problem Marian was having with it was that she didn’t. There was a twinge, perhaps, a tiny hint of remorse buried among the shock and disbelief, but more than anything else, she felt _proud_. Everything she had ever been taught told her it was wrong to be proud of taking someone’s life, but she couldn’t deny that it had felt good to slide her blade into his gut, to know as she twisted it that he would never be a threat to Isabela again. 

That was what it came down to, in the end: Isabela. Anders had accused Marian of having deeper feelings, and as much as she wanted to deny it, he may have been right. She knew it was hopeless, but she could already feel herself falling for Isabela—a fall that promised to be far more disastrous and damaging than the fall that had landed her in Thedas to begin with.

“Here you go,” Merrill said, interrupting Marian’s brooding. “I didn’t have you here to help, so it’s not very good, I’m afraid.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Marian said, giving Merrill an encouraging smile that felt more like a grimace. She looked down at the food—some sort of thick tomato-based sauce over rice. The dim lamplight gave it a dark appearance, and all Marian could think of was blood pooling beneath Castillon’s body. Her stomach lurched violently at the sight of it, and she shut her eyes as her pulse sped up.

“You all right?” Carver asked. “You look like shit.” 

“I need some air.” Marian pushed away from the table, rushing out of the room without a backward glance.

***

Marian found herself at the foot of the stairs, arms wrapped around herself as she cursed her lack of any kind of jacket. There was a tattered scrap of sailcloth bunched up on a barrel, probably torn when the winds started to pick up; it turned out to be large enough to wrap around her shoulders and still have some left over. It was damp, and certainly wouldn’t do as well as an umbrella and a windbreaker, but the heavy fabric would at least keep the rain mostly off of her and block out the worst of the chill.

It would have been smarter to just stay belowdecks, maybe find a spot in the hold where she could be alone with her thoughts, but Marian _needed_ to go on deck. She could still hardly believe that any of it had happened, despite the ample evidence staining her clothes; maybe returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak, would help it all sink in. 

She wasn’t going up there to see Isabela, she told herself. Her feelings were a jumbled mess right now, and what she really needed was some time alone to process, and maybe try to figure out what that look had meant—the one that had come over Isabela’s face as Anders carried Marian down to the infirmary. She figured the crew would be busy making sure the ship came through the storm intact, and that no one would give her a second glance as she found some out-of-the-way spot to think. 

The rain had washed most of the blood from the deck, and what stains still lingered were thankfully obscured by the near-darkness. The deck was also mostly abandoned, its sole occupant braced against the rail, leaning into the wind as raindrops pelted skin that shone even darker in the silvery moonlight. 

Mesmerized by the sight, Marian froze at the top of the stairs, just taking it in. Isabela was always an attractive woman, but relaxed as she was, letting the primal forces of nature wash over and around her, she was almost inhumanly beautiful. Marian’s breath caught in her throat.

“I know you’re there,” Isabela called out after a few moments. She turned, leaning a hip against the rail and crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve got to be pretty clever to sneak up on me.” 

“I wasn’t sneaking up,” Marian said, glad that the darkness would conceal her blush. “I just wanted to get some air, is all.” 

Isabela smirked, gesturing around her. “Well there’s plenty of it out here.”

The wind shifted direction, whipping Marian’s hair against her face; she shivered, pulling the sailcloth tighter around herself. “You’re not cold?” 

“A little,” Isabela admitted with a shrug, turning back to her original position and tipping her face up to catch the rain. “It’s invigorating.” 

Marian finally managed to make her legs work, walking over to join Isabela. It was mostly instinct—and a desire not to let the woman freeze to death—that made her press her front to Isabela’s back, sliding her arms over bare shoulders to wrap the sailcloth around them both. The peace and calm she had observed just moments ago dissipated as Isabela tensed in her embrace. Marian smirked. “You’re not afraid of a little cuddling, are you?”

Isabela scoffed in response, purposefully relaxing against Marian all at once. She wasn’t fooling anyone, except maybe herself; Marian could feel her heart pounding through her back.

“See, it’s not so bad,” Marian teased, resting her chin on Isabela’s shoulder.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Isabela warned, reaching up to take the edges of the fabric from Marian’s hands and tugging on them pointedly. “It’s just for warmth.”

“Of course,” Marian agreed indulgently, slipping her now-empty hands around Isabela’s waist. 

Isabela nudged her with an elbow. “Don’t patronize me.” 

Marian laughed, feeling Isabela’s smirk against the side of her face, and adopted her most serious tone. “Whatever you say.”

“I mean it.” Isabela nudged her again, harder this time. Her stern tone was spoiled by the hint of laughter in it. “I’ll throw you overboard. Don’t think I won’t.”

She didn’t move away from Marian, though; the moments stretched on as they stood like that, rain gently pelting their faces. The ocean was dark and choppy, and for a time Marian was content to watch the waves swell and crash, crests flashing white in what little moonlight there was.

Eventually, though, the silence grew too heavy; Marian wasn’t sure anymore if it was Isabela’s heartbeat or her own that was hammering against her ribs, and she could feel the tension seeping back into Isabela’s frame.

“So, where is everyone?” she asked, hoping conversation would distract Isabela from the intimacy of their embrace. “I thought there’d be more people on deck.”

Isabela shifted her weight, fingers fidgeting with the edges of the sailcloth. “I imagine most are getting some well-earned rest. We’ve dropped anchor to ride out the storm. It’s not a bad one, but it’s better to be safe.” She paused. “Besides, it’s not like we’ve got anyone to run from anymore.”

Marian chuckled weakly, remembering the reason she’d come up here in the first place. 

“That was stupid, you know,” Isabela said casually. There was something uneasy in her tone. “Taking him on by yourself like that.”

“So I’ve been told.” Marian rolled her eyes, thinking to herself that it sounded a lot better coming from Isabela. She squeezed Isabela’s waist a little. “It worked though, didn’t it? Thanks to your lessons.”

“Well,” Isabela began, gathering both ends of the sail in one hand and dropping the other down to trace suggestive designs into Marian’s arms, “you’re a decent student when you’re not thinking of ways to get my clothes off.” 

It was an obvious ploy to turn the focus toward sex; at least, obvious to Marian, and it was a disconcerting thought that she knew Isabela well enough to see through it. Even more disconcerting was the fact that Marian found herself wanting to resist it—sex would put an end to this other, more intimate closeness, and as foolish as it was, she wanted to hold onto this feeling for as long as she could. 

“What did he even want?” Marian asked. Isabela loved to tell stories almost as much as Varric did, and she was hoping it would distract her from more troubling thoughts. 

Isabela shrugged. “He got it into his head that I knew something about some big treasure or other. Said I owed it to him to tell him about it.” She shook her head, scoffing a little. “I had no idea what he was talking about, and I told him as much. He obviously didn’t believe me.” 

Silence fell over them again; Marian grasped for a topic, finally remembering what she’d been meaning to ask Isabela for the past day. “So, you were married.” 

A dry laugh escaped Isabela’s lips. “I was bought and paid for,” she said bitterly. “Who told you?”

“Merrill,” Marian admitted. “But only a little.”

The fingers that had been idly trailing over Marian’s arm disappeared, retreating back to clutch at the sailcloth around Isabela’s shoulders. “Did she tell you how my mother sold me for a handful of gold coins and a goat?”

Marian’s eyes widened; she thought _she_ had problems with her mother. “She left out that part.” 

“I’m over it, for the most part,” Isabela said with a shrug. “The bastard’s dead, and I got this lovely ship out of the bargain. Not a bad deal, though certainly not one I’d repeat.”

“You don’t strike me as a woman who wants to be tied down,” Marian said wryly.

“Hey now,” Isabela protested, grinding her hips seductively into Marian’s. “Let’s not be hasty. That can be downright _fun_.”

Marian chuckled, her hands twitching against Isabela’s abdomen. It was becoming impossible to ignore the feel of Isabela’s body pressed against her; their shared body heat had warmed them everywhere they touched, contrasting sharply with the chill everywhere else. The smell of rain and salt and sweat clung to Isabela’s neck, and Marian couldn’t resist turning her face into it, nose and lips brushing against the damp skin. She didn’t come up here with seduction in mind, but somehow it seemed inevitable when Isabela was involved. 

Isabela tilted her head, a soft moan vibrating in her throat as Marian’s tongue slipped out to steal a raindrop from her skin. Before Marian was even conscious of what she was doing, her hand crept down to trace the edge of the tunic plastered to Isabela’s thigh. The exposed skin was clammy and cold under Marian’s touch, and she pressed her palm to it, holding it there for a few moments to warm it before sliding inward and upward. 

Despite the freezing rain, there was one place where Isabela was still quite warm; Marian’s breath caught as she cupped her palm between Isabela’s legs, feeling heat radiate through the thin fabric. Isabela moaned her approval, leaning back against Marian and widening her stance to allow better access. 

Marian’s fingers dipped underneath the soaked material, drawing a sharp gasp from Isabela’s throat. Her fingers were still cold, or maybe Isabela was just that much warmer, because the slick heat was almost scalding as she traced leisurely circles into aroused flesh. 

“Tease,” Isabela accused breathlessly, jerking into Marian’s touch.

“You like it,” Marian shot back. Nevertheless, she increased her pressure, settling into a slightly faster rhythm as Isabela’s head fell back against her shoulder. Her free hand held Isabela firmly against her, almost entirely supporting Isabela’s weight as she slid her fingers lower, slipping inside as far as she could go. Their position was awkward and prevented more satisfying contact, but it was worth the effort to hear the wanton groan bubble up in Isabela’s throat. 

The heel of Marian’s hand ground against Isabela as her fingers pumped shallowly in and out; Isabela’s breath grew more erratic, the sounds she made becoming more urgent by the second. Soon she was shuddering against Marian, held up only by the hand gripping her around the waist. 

A rush of satisfaction flooded Marian’s chest as she realized the position they were in. It was the first time Isabela had let her be remotely in control of the situation, and her heart leapt giddily at the thought that, at the very least, Isabela was beginning to trust her. 

As Isabela caught her breath, Marian slid her hand free, bringing it up to join the other at Isabela’s waist. It was the same position they’d been in before, but it seemed more intimate now—and about far more than just shared warmth. 

Isabela seemed to notice the shift, too; she tensed again, dropping the sail as she spun in Marian’s arms. There was something troubled in her expression, but her eyes were dark and unreadable as she grabbed Marian’s hips and reversed their positions. 

Now Marian was pressed up against the rail, Isabela’s body keeping her pinned as their mouths clashed in a hungry kiss. Isabela worked quickly, deft fingers popping the button on Marian’s shorts as she broke away, drinking rainwater from Marian’s neck, from between her breasts. Marian tilted her head back and closed her eyes, no longer feeling the chill of the wind and rain as it pelted her face.

Suddenly Isabela’s mouth was gone; Marian groaned, forcing her head forward to seek out the reason for it. Isabela was kneeling before her, looking up with a sultry smirk as she tucked cold, sure fingers into Marian’s waistband and tugged. It was a sight Marian didn’t think she could ever tire of.

Something clenched in her at the thought, something deeper and more dangerous than arousal. Yeah, she was in trouble.


	17. Chapter 17

Marian tugged at the hem of her new shirt as she followed Isabela and Aveline through the streets of Val Royeaux. Isabela had insisted she take a look at what little clothing there was among the various spoils in the ship’s hold, since it had been for her sake that the old one had been ruined. Unfortunately, clothing wasn’t high on the crew’s list of valuable treasure items, and the best she’d come up with was a red linen shirt that was too tight around the shoulders. Isabela had helpfully solved that problem by hacking off the sleeves with one of her daggers, claiming that it was better like that anyway—more range of movement or something. It was comfortable enough, though clearly designed for a man—a very small man, perhaps an elf—because the neckline plunged down halfway to her navel, a fact that predictably delighted Isabela; it was only made halfway decent by the black lacing that held it together. 

It also felt a little too much like dressing up for Marian’s taste. She felt awkward wearing it over her tan cargo shorts, with her weapons belt cinched around it, even if everyone else—especially Isabela—agreed that, aside from the somewhat off-putting blood stains permanently embedded in the shorts, it looked great. Maybe she just needed to get used to it. 

The crazed bustle of Val Royeaux, however, was something Marian wasn’t sure she _could_ get used to. She’d been to some big cities in her time, but at least in America people generally protected their own personal space, even if they didn’t respect other people’s. Here, she felt like she was constantly being jostled; there were so many people, and the lack of sidewalks seemed to mean that they walked wherever they pleased, regardless of whether they were directly in your path or not. Even Kirkwall hadn’t been nearly this crowded.

She got to see one of those Circle things Anders was always going on about, at least; the White Spire, as it was called, was one of the first things Marian had spotted as the ship docked, and she hadn’t lost sight of it yet. It was also the reason Anders had decided to stay on board, rather than join them in the city; he’d said he didn’t quite feel like tempting fate by walking around right under the Templars’ noses—not because he was afraid of being caught, he insisted, but because he was afraid of what he might do to them.

Whatever the reason, Marian was glad for it. Over the past few days, he’d grown more and more grouchy and withdrawn—either because Marian had given him a definitive “no”, or because she clearly had given Isabela a resounding “yes”. She wasn’t _trying_ to rub it in his face, really, but when Isabela gave her that heated look, the one that said plainly that she was going to have her way with Marian whether they went somewhere private or not, the last thing Marian was thinking about was Anders’ feelings. 

Meanwhile, things with Isabela were going about as well as she could hope for. Isabela insisted on continuing with their lessons, although now they inevitably ended with the two of them tumbling into Isabela’s cabin for sparring of a different kind. Marian knew it was a mistake to keep giving in to Isabela’s overtures, especially when it was painfully clear that this couldn’t be about anything more than physical desire. Every time she slipped out from between Isabela’s sheets, she left another piece of herself behind; she was starting to doubt if there would be anything left for this mysterious witch to send home. 

They had set out on this course, though, and she was stuck following it to the end. Marian felt a little guilty for the small part of her that hoped they wouldn’t find this dwarven merchant, that they’d hit a dead end and be unable to get home. If nothing else, it wouldn’t be fair to Carver—although she couldn’t quite figure out when she’d actually started to care what happened to her brother.

Carver had opted to stay on the ship, claiming that “the Champion”, as he’d obnoxiously taken to calling her, would have no problem handling a little info gathering while he focused his efforts on training with Fenris. Marian was pretty sure he was just bitter because she’d beaten him badly the day before, when Isabela had suggested they try fighting each other—to get a feel for going up against opponents with different fighting styles, Isabela insisted, though Marian was sure that getting to openly ogle them both at the same time was, at the very least, an added bonus. 

It should have bothered her, Marian thought, that Isabela had no qualms about appreciating the sexual appeal of just about anyone she set eyes on—including the brother of the woman she was currently appreciating in a much more hands-on fashion. Strangely, Marian found she didn’t really mind; it was just how Isabela was. 

Which also meant that Marian was far more comfortable letting herself admire Isabela in return. She could easily have kept up with the brisk pace set mainly by Aveline, who was intent on finishing this so-called quest and returning home to her job and her husband—quite possibly in that order—but Marian was content to hang back a bit; the view from behind as Isabela sauntered through the streets was a delicious one, and she was sure that the extra sway in Isabela’s hips was mostly for her benefit. 

Unfortunately, keeping her eyes trained on Isabela’s ass meant that she wasn’t quite paying attention to anything else—which was why, when the focus of her attention stopped abruptly, Marian had to pull back to keep from barreling right into Isabela’s back. It jarred her enough to notice the reason they’d stopped: a short distance away, a shrewd-looking dwarf was standing next to a cart of goods, appearing to haggle over the price of a pair of ornate leather boots. Next to him, a younger dwarf was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, staring idly up at the sky.

“That him?” Isabela muttered, tilting her head toward Aveline. 

“That’s him,” Aveline confirmed. 

The merchant’s customer, a rather stiff woman wearing altogether too many ruffles, finally shoved a handful of coins in his hand, taking the boots from him and stalking away in a huff. 

“Greetings, messeres,” the man said, turning toward them with an amiable smile as they approached. He dipped his head slightly before turning kind eyes on Aveline, who had taken the lead. “Bodahn Feddic, at your service. What can my boy and I do for you?” 

“We need to find someone,” Aveline said briskly.

“Well, I’m not sure as we can help you,” Bodahn replied, furrowing his brow. “We’re not generally in the ‘finding people’ business.”

“This is a very special person,” Aveline elaborated. “One that word has it your boy has had contact with.”

Bodahn let out a nervous laugh. “Sandal keeps to himself most of the time. He’s a bit simple, really, but a genius with enchantments.” 

The younger dwarf perked up at the word, tearing his eyes away from the clouds to smile brightly at Bodahn. “Enchantment?”

“Ah, not now, Sandal.” Bodahn laid a hand on Sandal’s shoulder. “These nice ladies are looking for someone they think you might know.” 

Sandal cocked his head. “Not enchantment?” 

Aveline shot Isabela an aggrieved look, clearly seeking some kind of assistance. Isabela just shrugged, smirking at Aveline’s struggle. 

“I leave the interrogations to her,” Isabela murmured, leaning in close to Marian. “She wouldn’t approve of my methods.” 

Marian turned to meet Isabela’s eyes, a crooked smile on her lips. “Well, I certainly do.”

Isabela chuckled, her palm pressing briefly against Marian’s lower back. “Later, sweet thing,” she promised, turning her attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Sandal,” Aveline was saying with forced patience, “do you remember talking about an old woman?” 

“The old lady is scary,” Sandal said, his eyes wide with fear.

“Now, now,” Bodahn said reassuringly, rubbing Sandal’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about that if it upsets you.” 

Something seemed to come over Sandal then; he either didn’t hear Bodahn or just ignored him, because he clutched his hands together in front of him and rambled on with an odd look in his eyes. “There’s a dead village, where the river meets three roads. The scary lady is waiting there for the birds that fell from the sky.” 

Bodahn eyed the boy strangely. “What’s gotten into you, boy?” 

Sandal turned to him, chin trembling. “Enchantment?” he asked with a distressed look in his eyes.

“I, ah, I hate to do this,” Bodahn said, his tone apologetic but firm, “but he’s clearly upset. I think it would be best if you left.” 

“That’s quite all right.” Aveline nodded, sharing a wary look with Isabela. “I think we got what we were after, anyway.”

***

“Trimard,” Varric supplied, leaning back in his chair. They were gathered around a table in a tavern near the docks, trying to decipher the cryptic clues Sandal had provided. “I asked around, and there’s a village about a week’s journey northwest of here that sprung up along the Imperial Highway. It’s a ghost town now—everyone moved on when the fourth Blight hit. And it so happens to be situated along the river, right where the Highway branches to create an intersection of three roads.”

“Oh goody,” Isabela said dryly, taking a generous swig of whiskey. “A week. I do love traveling on foot.”

“What will happen to the ship?” Marian asked, nursing her ale. She’d learned her lesson about the liquor in Thedas; the ale wasn’t much better, but at least it burned less going down.

Isabela shrugged. “I’ll have to pay a sodding fortune to keep it docked here, and someone will need to stay on board to make sure my crew doesn’t run off with it. I may trust them to follow my orders, but when I’m not around, all bets are off—and she’s the one thing I’m not willing to gamble with.” 

“I will stay behind,” Fenris offered. “I have no desire to meet this witch.” 

“It’s settled, then. We’ll leave tomorrow.” Isabela finished off her tumbler of whiskey, then slid a warm hand up Marian’s thigh. She quirked an eyebrow suggestively. “For now, what do you say we find ourselves a secluded alley somewhere?” 

Marian never thought she’d find such an offer so appealing.


	18. Chapter 18

Sleeping on the ground was definitely not on Marian’s list of favorite things to do. It had been three days since they left Val Royeaux, and she was starting to think the stiffness in her joints would never go away, no matter how thoroughly Isabela massaged her. Not that it stopped her from gladly accepting said massages, even if half the time they didn’t end up being thorough at all—it turned out to be all too easy to get distracted when Isabela’s hands were pressing into her bare skin. 

Of course, that was when they had time for such indulgences. Most of their time was spent walking; Marian had thought she was in shape, but she’d never exerted herself quite so much, or so frequently. Even going slowly, and stopping for meals, they were averaging more distance in a day than Marian usually walked in a week—and although they had Anders on hand to soothe pulled muscles and leg cramps, he couldn’t do anything about the lingering stiffness or utter exhaustion. 

Which made it all the more frustrating when she couldn’t sleep through the night because the ground insisted on being so irritatingly hard. Finally she gave up on trying to get back to sleep and slid her eyes open. She was about to turn toward the fire, where people were still up and talking, when she heard Varric say her name.

“What about her?” Isabela asked. 

“You’re spending an awful lot of time with the kid,” Varric said pointedly. 

Marian knew it was probably wrong to listen in, but the temptation was too strong to resist. She closed her eyes and kept her breathing steady, listening intently for the response.

Isabela laughed. “She’s hardly a kid, Varric. What’s your point?”

“Don’t be thick,” Aveline chimed in. “You may be a shameless slattern, but you’re not stupid. It’s obvious she’s gotten herself attached to you. Maker knows why.” 

“Now who’s being stupid?” Isabela scoffed. “We have fun.”

“You don’t think it could be more than that?” Merrill prodded. Even without looking, Marian could practically see the hopeful, eager smile on the elf’s lips.

The brief pause felt like an eternity, and Marian’s heart jumped into her throat; it felt like everything—her entire existence—was hinging on Isabela’s response. 

“What does it even matter, Kitten?” Isabela said evasively. “She's going back to her own world or whatever as soon as we find this witch."

She was avoiding the question, and it wasn’t lost on Marian—but what did it _mean_? Her pulse was pounding in her ears so loud she was sure they’d be able to hear it, and all she could think about was how badly she wanted to turn around, to see if Isabela’s expression held any kind of clue as to what she was feeling.

Merrill sighed. “Sometimes I just wish you’d let yourself be happy, that’s all.”

“I’m plenty happy, Kitten,” Isabela replied. “I’ve got a great ship, a great crew. Castillon’s history, so I can sail pretty much wherever I like without worrying about him breathing down my neck—”

“Thanks to Hawke,” Aveline pointed out, cutting Isabela off. 

“And,” Isabela continued, irritation creeping into her tone, “I’ve got a gorgeous, talented playmate that doesn’t ask for anything I’m not willing to give. Who wouldn’t be happy with that?”

“So, what happens when she leaves?” Varric asked. 

There was another pause, then Isabela said with a calculated ease, “I’ll just have to find another. I’ve never had too much trouble warming my bed.”

Marian’s throat clenched with the threat of tears. It was one thing to know that there was nothing between them but sex; it was another thing entirely to hear Isabela so easily write her off as just the latest in a long string of casual affairs. 

She wasn’t an idiot. Marian knew all of the reasons that it could never be more than that, and repeated them to herself daily. It didn’t stop her from wanting, though, so fiercely that she was sure it must be obvious. There were times when Isabela would look at her, and it would feel like she was completely transparent. Those were the times that a shadow would flicker through Isabela’s eyes, and they would narrow almost imperceptibly—an unspoken warning that it would be a mistake to fall for her. 

It was too late, though—and sometimes Marian was almost convinced that there was more in that look; that some small, hidden part of Isabela wouldn’t mind so much if Marian fell for her, that maybe she was falling a little bit herself. It was probably wishful thinking, she knew—just as well as she knew that it made no difference either way. Every day brought them one step closer to parting, and even though Marian knew it would only make the inevitable pain worse, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse Isabela’s frequent advances.

Distracted by her thoughts, Marian slipped back into a fitful sleep. When Isabela woke her early the next morning, nodding to a nearby copse of trees with a devilish grin, she didn’t hesitate to follow.

***

“This must be it,” Aveline said, sharp eyes scanning the ruined village before them. It had taken them ten days to get here from Val Royeaux, but they had definitely made it.

“What _happened_ here?” Carver looked around, incredulous. “’Ghost town’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.” 

Marian couldn’t really argue with that assessment. Trimard had been a small village, a collection of buildings lining either side of the river all the way up to a raised highway of crumbling stone. Now the buildings were in various stages of disrepair; some looked ready to collapse if you looked at them the wrong way, while others were charred and blackened. Near the top of the village, where the river ran through a grate built into the side of the highway, stood what used to be a mill; the wheel was broken, half submerged and covered in algae. 

“There are hundreds of villages like this, all over Thedas,” Varric said as they continued along a path long since overgrown with weeds. “When a Blight hits, it devours everything in its way. The only thing you can hope for is to get out before the darkspawn arrive—and this right here is why.” 

“So darkspawn did all this?” Marian asked, a shiver racing down her spine as she saw part of a skeleton sticking out from beneath a pile of charred wood. 

“Mostly.” Varric gestured to the blackened houses. “The fires were probably the result of drifters who came after the fact—made a fire then fell asleep or forgot about it. That, though—” he pointed at one building that looked as though something had ripped it apart the way a child would tear down a tower of wooden blocks. “—that was probably an ogre.” 

Anders shuddered. “I hate ogres.” 

“Agreed.” Aveline’s expression took on an uneasy, distant look.

“So, any idea where we’re supposed to find this witch?” Carver asked. 

“I’d say that’s a good place to start.” Isabela pointed toward a two-story building that looked to be in better shape than all the rest. It was on the other side of the river, across a dubious-looking stone bridge that Marian wasn’t sure would actually hold anyone’s weight. A faded sign identifying it as what used to be an inn hung lopsidedly from a post above the door, one chain already rusted through to the point of snapping and the other looking to be well on its way to the same. In one of the lower windows, a warm light flickered invitingly.

Marian jerked to a stop before stepping onto the bridge. That building could very well hold her ticket home—so why did she have the overwhelming urge to run the other way? 

“You coming, Hawke?” Isabela said, a smirk playing at her lips. “You’re not afraid of the big bad witch, are you?”

“Of course not,” Marian scoffed weakly. She just couldn’t get her feet to move.

Isabela seemed to understand her reticence, and her smirk faded into an uneasy smile. “Come on,” she said softly, dragging her fingers down Marian’s arm. “Let’s get you home.” 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Marian summoned all of her resolve; when she opened them again, she met Isabela’s gaze with a weak smile and nodded.

***

Inside, they came upon an unlikely sight: a haggard old woman was seated at a rickety wooden table, casually sipping a cup of tea. Gray hair brushed her sagging shoulders, covered by threadbare robes. She looked more like someone’s grandmother than a powerful witch of legend. As they stepped inside, she turned piercing yellow eyes on them, and Marian could swear the woman was peering into her very soul.

“I wondered when you would finally arrive.”


	19. Chapter 19

“If you knew we were coming, you could have come to meet us,” Marian cracked nervously. Carver smacked her on the arm, shooting her a wide-eyed look. 

The witch—Flemeth, Marian remembered distantly—answered her attempt at humor with an enigmatic look before turning her attention to Aveline. “If it isn’t the soldier with the chevalier’s name.” Her gaze dragged over the woman in question, lingering on the simple gold ring on Aveline’s left hand. The corner of her mouth twitched, as though she was almost considering a smile. “It seems the years have treated you well—even provided a replacement for your poor lost templar.” 

“I can’t complain,” Aveline replied, her brow furrowed. She glanced sidelong at Isabela. “Much.”

“You seem confused,” Flemeth noted. She cocked her head. “Is it my less than impressive visage, perhaps?” She rose from her seat, and before their very eyes, she _changed_. Where before sat a hunched, fragile old woman, now a slim, ageless warrior in deep red studded leather and plate armor stood proudly. This time her mouth did curve up, and the smile that touched her lips was somehow more unsettling than the solemn expression she’d worn before. “Does that match more closely your memory of me?”

“That’s better, yes,” Aveline said. She didn’t seem too affected by the witch’s transformation, but from the stories Marian had heard of Aveline’s previous encounter with Flemeth, she had seen far stranger things.

“But you did not come all this way for me to help _you_ , did you, child?” Flemeth shifted her focus back to Marian and Carver, who both stood staring.

Marian still wasn’t quite sure what she had just witnessed. She had seen some crazy things in her time here in Thedas, but that had to be one of the craziest. It wasn’t at all a stretch to think that this woman could somehow get them home—and that made Marian’s stomach twist with more than just nerves. 

A warm hand pressed lightly into the small of her back, and she glanced over to meet Isabela’s eyes, grateful and aching all at once. It could have just been Isabela’s usual hands-on form of affection, but the touch calmed Marian, bled some of the tension from her, and she didn’t think Isabela was unaware of it. As the moment stretched, Isabela drew her hand away, crossing her arms over her ribs and turning to Flemeth.

“The Hawkes here have fallen from their nest,” Isabela said, donning a smirk to cover her discomfort as she gestured to Marian and Carver.

“And they have reason to believe you can help them get home,” Aveline added.

Flemeth nodded, tapping her chin with one gauntlet-encased finger. “I do possess the ability, it’s true.” Her eyes narrowed as she considered them both, lingering on Marian for an uncomfortably long time. “But should I? History is littered with the ruins of deeds done simply because someone _could_ do them.”

“But you _have_ to help us!” Carver blurted out, taking an angry step forward. He froze as Flemeth’s gaze snapped to him, golden eyes so hard and fierce that even Marian felt a chill run down her spine.

“There is very little that I _have_ to do, young man. You would do well to keep that in mind.” Silence fell as her warning sank in, her expression sharp and unyielding. After a few moments, she gave a little shrug. “Nevertheless, I made my choice long before you walked through that door. _If_ you desire to return to your world—” Her eyes shifted back to Marian, sharp and probing. “I will do what needs to be done.”

“Of course we want to go,” Carver scoffed. 

Marian, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as sure. The witch had looked at her as though seeing through to the core of her, and she couldn’t shake the thought that Flemeth knew exactly what was weighing on her mind. She tried to avoid looking at Isabela, but the temptation was too much—when she glanced sideways, she saw that Isabela was staunchly avoiding eye contact. 

“Right, Marian?” Carver prodded, nudging her arm. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, tearing her eyes away to look back at the witch. She forced enthusiasm into her tone. “We do.” 

“So,” Carver waved his hands in a vague, indistinct gesture, “do your thing.” 

Flemeth laughed heartily. “It’s not as simple as that, boy. Preparations need to be made. Perhaps for you as well as I.”

“What kind of preparations?” Marian asked. A tiny, insistent part of her was hoping against hope that it would take longer, that she would have more time before she had to say goodbye. 

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Flemeth replied, arching an eyebrow. “I will return when the sun begins to rise. By this time tomorrow, you both will be where you belong.” 

“What are we supposed to do until then?” Carver demanded impatiently. 

“It hardly makes a difference to me.” Flemeth shrugged. “Although I would suggest you make the most of what time you have left.” With one last shrewd glance at Marian, the witch swept past them out of the room. 

“She’s just as impossibly cryptic as I remember,” Aveline said distastefully.

***

Marian’s insides twisted into knots as she stared at the door to the room Isabela had claimed for the night. The inn had proved to still be quite habitable—disconcertingly so, in fact. The rooms were all furnished with intact beds, and sheets that were free of dust. Clearly Flemeth had done something, though Marian was hard-pressed to find any possible motivation for it.

It didn’t matter right now, anyway; this was her last night in this world, and there were more important things to think about. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Marian knocked softly on the door. 

“Come in.” 

Isabela sat at a rickety wooden table with her back to the door, looking intently at something she held before her. She turned, blocking the table with her body as Marian closed the door gently behind her. “Hawke.” She cleared her throat, lips curving into her default smirk. “I was just about to come find you.”

“Oh?” Marian’s heart jumped into her throat.

“I didn’t think that would surprise you anymore.” Isabela arched an eyebrow, raking her eyes down Marian’s body. The familiar look in her eyes still managed to make a hot flush rise in Marian’s cheeks. “I wanted to give you this.”

Marian’s lips parted in shock as she registered the offering. Isabela’s hand was closed around the hilt of a familiar weapon—the Dagger of the Four Winds, the prize Isabela had been after when Marian and Carver first fell into this world. 

She shook her head, glancing up to meet Isabela’s gaze. “I can’t—”

“Nonsense,” Isabela cut in. “Of course you can.” She rose from her seat, closing the scant distance between them. “You earned it, anyway. It was meant to be Castillon’s, to keep him off my back for a bit. You managed to do one better. It’s the least I can do.” 

Something almost nervous flashed across Isabela’s face, and Marian felt her breath catch in her throat. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“Don’t say anything, you goose—just take it,” Isabela said, pressing the jeweled hilt into one of Marian’s hands. The lamplight glinted off of the razor-sharp blade, and gave the gems a warm, liquid gleam. “It wouldn’t do for you to go home without a souvenir, after all.”

Marian didn’t know if it was wishful thinking, or if she’d actually heard Isabela’s voice crack a little. Either way, she felt her own throat constrict in response, and the feeling she’d been fighting for weeks swelled in her chest until she felt as though she would burst trying to contain it. She closed her fist around the dagger’s hilt, trying to summon the nerve to speak; if she didn’t say it now, she’d never get the chance. “You know, I’d stay if you asked me to.” 

All at once, Isabela’s expression shut down; she turned away from Marian, sauntering back to her chair. “All the better you’re leaving, then,” she said, her voice cold and distant. “I don’t want that kind of power.”

It stung, and Marian felt tears prick at her eyes. “Isabela, I—”

“Don’t.” Isabela’s voice was sharp, but her eyes held a spark of panic. “Don’t you dare—”

“Why not?” Marian demanded. Anger and frustration were bubbling to the surface now, making her throw caution to the wind. She stepped closer to Isabela. “I care about you, okay? I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry if that scares you,” she finished bitterly.

“I’m not afraid,” Isabela scoffed, leaning casually back in her chair with a shrug. “I feel sorry for you. I told you this could never be more than sex. It’s not my fault you can’t keep your feelings under control.”

A tear leaked out of the corner of Marian’s eye, sliding down over her cheek as she stared in disbelief. Isabela had always been distant, but she’d never been _cruel_. “Well, not everyone can be like you,” Marian spat, hurling the dagger away from her as if it had been the one to cause the offense. “Some of us actually _have_ feelings.”

Without waiting for a response, Marian threw open the door, storming out and slamming it behind her.


	20. Chapter 20

“Idiot.” Marian was still trembling from the adrenaline coursing through her. “Stupid fucking idiot.” 

“Not that I disagree, but what exactly did you do now?”

Marian paused and turned to glare at Carver, who was leaning in the doorway of the inn watching her pace a groove into the dirt outside. “Like you care,” she spat.

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Carver shrugged. “I'm pretty sure I can figure it out for myself anyway."

"Oh, are they teaching complex thought patterns to chimps now?" Marian retorted caustically.

Carver, the bastard, just laughed. "Funny. I'm not the one who's spent the last couple months mooning over someone they can't have."

Marian gaped. “I’m not—” she sputtered. “I don't—“ She gave up—there was no use denying it. “Ugh, I hate you, Carver.” Turning away, she stormed over to the edge of the shallow cliff that looked down on the river, sitting down with a huff. She didn’t look up when Carver sank down beside her. 

“Whatever happened, it's not worth throwing yourself off a cliff over,” he said dryly. “Besides, it’s not a far enough fall to kill you, and I’m not about to nurse you back to health.”

Somehow, fighting with Carver wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it used to be. Marian sighed, defeated. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” she admitted, keeping her eyes trained on the water below. “I knew all along that we had to go back, that it would be a mistake to let myself fall for her...” she trailed off, wiping angrily at the tears that persisted in falling. “But it's like I couldn't stop myself. I guess I just hoped that maybe it wasn't one-sided.”

A warm hand curved over her shoulder, squeezing gently, and Marian looked up to see Carver looking at her almost kindly. “Well, I haven’t gotten to know her as well as you have,” his lips twitched as a smirk tried to fight its way onto them. Marian smacked him in the leg. “But it seems to me like there’s two possibilities.”

Marian tried not to look too pathetically hopeful as she nodded for him to continue.

“One, she doesn't have any feelings for you,” he said, then paused. “Well, other than the sexy kind, and I _really_ don’t want to know about that.”

Rolling her eyes, Marian pushed at his leg. “And the other option?”

“She does feel something, and it scares her,” Carver said with a shrug. “Not to mention she knows there's no point. You're leaving, Marian. It's not fair to expect her to embrace any feelings she might have, knowing that it'll only make it hurt more when you're gone.”

Stunned, Marian blinked up at her brother, seeing him in a completely new light. “When did you get so perceptive?”

Carver shrugged. “While you've been spending the last two months chasing tail, I've been doing a lot of thinking. About women, mostly. Trying to understand them.”

Ah—that explained it. “Emily?”

“Yeah.” Carver looked down at the water, his heels banging back against the cliff face. “Right before we left on vacation, Em and I had a huge fight.”

“What about?” Marian was surprised to find that she actually cared.

“I asked her to marry me.”

“Uh…wow.” Marian said, dumbstruck. “That’s…wow.”

“Yeah, I know,” Carver said, rolling his eyes. “We're too young, it's a huge commitment, blah blah blah.”

“Well, no, it's just...” Marian was having a hard time wrapping her head around it. “I don't know. It seems like such a grown up thing to do.” 

“I have actually grown up, you know.” He nudged her with his shoulder. The playful smile on his lips faded as he sighed. “She freaked out. Said I was rushing things, that this was too huge of a thing to put on her right before her senior year.” He hung his head, fiddling with a loose pebble. “I took it bad...accused her of not being as into the relationship as I am. You know how my temper gets.”

Marian smirked and nodded; she had the same problem. 

“I wanted to call her that night to apologize, but it was too late,” Carver continued, his voice strained. “And then we had to leave early the next morning.”

Oh, shit. “So when you were glued to your cell phone the whole vacation...”

“I was trying to fix things.” He tossed the pebble in his hands down into the water. “I finally got her to answer my texts, but then we were in Nowheresville and I couldn't get reception.”

“And I'm sure me harassing you about it didn't help,” Marian said, chagrined. “I'm sorry.”

Carver shrugged. “Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have spilled the beans about you and college.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “It really was an asshole thing to do.”

It seemed a lifetime ago that Marian had been freaking out about that; disappointing her mother seemed like such a small thing now, compared to what she’d been through since. “I don't know when I'd have ever gotten the guts to tell her myself, so I probably owe you one,” Marian admitted. She tilted her head up to look at him. “So what have you figured out, then? About women?”

“Well, I don't know about women in general,” he said with a wry smile, “but I think I know where I went wrong with Em. We're only a year apart, but it's a big year. She's got colleges to apply to, and senior projects, and prom...” he trailed off, gesturing idly with his hands. “I'd already been through it, so I was moving on to the next thing without thinking. I was so fixated on what I wanted to have with her, on what I was ready for, that I didn't stop to think what _she_ might be ready for.”

Marian chuckled. “So what you're saying is, I should cut Isabela some slack.”

“Hey, I don't know what all's gone on between you.” He held up his hands. “And I don't want to know,” he added quickly. “But I'm just saying...yeah, give her a break. It's a hard situation, and not just for you. She doesn't really seem like she gets close to a lot of people, but for whatever reason, she's let you in—even if it's just a little bit.”

Loath as she was to admit it, he had a point. Unfortunately, that only made the reality of the situation hurt more. “But what's the use in even trying to fix things?” She asked morosely, feeling tears once again prick at her eyes. “If everything goes according to plan, you and I are leaving tomorrow, for good. It won’t matter what I could have had with Isabela.”

Silence fell as Carver tried to find a response, and Marian let the tears come. There was nothing he could say that would change the fact that she would never see Isabela again after tomorrow. 

Finally he sighed, keeping his gaze trained on the water below. “It's been killing me this whole time, knowing that the last words I said to Emily were in anger. Even when I'd lost hope of getting home, all I wished for was the chance to tell her that I was sorry, that I love her no matter what.” He looked up, resting his hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “If this is really the last night you have with Isabela, and she really means that much to you, then you should make the most of it.”

Marian looked up at him, glaring as she wiped at her eyes. “I hate it when you're right,” she said sullenly. A smug grin stretched his lips, and he once again looked like the arrogant, self-absorbed jerk she was used to. There was some comfort in the familiarity of it—but that didn’t mean she would let it go unpunished. She punched him in the arm, hard. “Good thing it doesn't happen often.”

The grin didn’t fade as he rubbed his arm. He’d won, but for the first time in Marian’s life she found that she didn’t really mind.

***

Marian’s stomach twisted and roiled as she stared at Isabela’s door for the second time that night. She knew she had to do this, for closure at the very least, but that didn’t make it any easier. After taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

This time Isabela opened the door herself. They stood there for a few long moments, regarding each other warily, before Isabela beckoned her in without a word. Marian entered, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as Isabela closed the door and turned to face her. She looked as lost for words as Marian felt.

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” Isabela finally said, her tone revealing nothing about what was going on in her head. 

“I couldn’t live with myself if the last thing I ever said to you was something so cruel,” Marian said, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I’m sorry.”

Isabela chuckled under her breath, crossing her arms over her ribs. “I probably deserved it.” She fidgeted for a moment, on the verge of saying something else but not quite getting there. “Look, I’m sorry too,” she finally forced out, fixing her gaze on the worn wood floor. “I just…well, I don’t want you to go, all right?” The words came out in a rush, and she raised her eyes to Marian’s almost defiantly, as if daring her to say something about this uncharacteristic admission. 

Marian couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it, however; she could only stand and stare, not entirely sure she had just heard those words leave Isabela’s lips. 

“I’m not asking you to stay,” Isabela added quickly, shrugging a little. “I just don’t know how I’ll ever go back to eating Merrill’s cooking.” 

A bittersweet smile tugged at Marian’s lips at the joke, even as her heart ached. She wanted to be happy—she _should_ have been happy. Isabela had all but admitted to having some kind of feelings for her—but that didn’t change the fact that she was leaving.

“I don’t know how I’ll go the rest of my life without that thing you do with your tongue,” Marian joked. If this was their last night together, she didn’t want to spend it dwelling on what was going to happen in the morning.

Isabela smirked, and a familiar spark flashed in her eyes as she took a step forward. “Well, you’ll just have to stock up on memories then.”

Then Isabela’s fingers were at her hip, and Isabela’s lips were a whisper away from her own, and Marian whimpered at the strength of the desire that gripped her as she leaned in to close the distance.

The kiss began slow and indulgent, just the seductive slide of lips on lips—until Isabela’s tongue slipped out to tease at Marian’s mouth. Marian moaned, moving her hands to either side of Isabela’s neck as the kiss grew deeper and more urgent. As Isabela backed her up to the edge of the bed, Marian slid one hand down to cup a full breast, happily swallowing the moan that escaped Isabela’s throat at the contact. 

Isabela’s hands drifted from Marian’s hips to her ass, kneading the firm flesh there before sliding lower down, throwing Marian off balance. Marian fell backward onto the bed, looking up at Isabela with half-lidded eyes as she struggled to catch her breath. Isabela just smirked; a wild, predatory gleam shone in her eyes as she crawled up Marian’s body, and when she leaned in again, her lips bypassed Marian’s and instead attached themselves to Marian’s throat.

Marian groaned as Isabela’s tongue and teeth assaulted her neck. It bordered on painful—it was certainly rougher than Isabela had ever been with her—but it hurt in the most delicious of ways. Gasping, Marian clutched at Isabela’s shoulders, savoring the sensation for as long as she could. 

Her hands slid down Isabela’s arms, and her fingers brushed against a familiar scrap of fabric tied around one bicep. She froze in place as it hit her: she was leaving a piece of herself behind, some tangible evidence that she had been here, had been a part of Isabela’s life, even for a short time. Maybe that was what Isabela was doing, too—with the dagger, and with the ferocity of her attention. Marian knew that she would have marks all along her neck in the morning, and for the first time in her life, she found herself wishing that those marks wouldn’t fade with time. 

Isabela pulled back. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” It would have sounded more reassuring if her throat hadn’t been thick with the threat of tears. 

“You’re sure?” Isabela pressed, amber eyes shining with concern. “We don’t have to—“

“I’m sure,” Marian insisted, pulling Isabela back down. Her hands tangled in Isabela’s hair, tugging Isabela in for a fervent kiss. She drank Isabela in, trying to memorize the feel and taste and smell of her; she ignored the tears that leaked out of the corners of her eyes, the ache in her chest that only grew more acute with each passing second. When Isabela pulled away again, Marian fought her every inch of the way, holding on with an urgency bordering on desperation. 

Isabela had always been stronger, though, and wrestled Marian’s hands down to rest against the mattress on either side of her head. “You’re not fine,” she chided. Instead of looking disappointed, the way Marian would have expected, Isabela only looked worried, and a little sad. 

It was that look that broke Marian. Her face twisted as a sob tore from her chest. She struggled against Isabela’s hold on her wrists, and Isabela loosened her grip, letting Marian roll out from under her. Marian curled up on her side, turning away so she wouldn’t have to see Isabela walk out the door. 

To her surprise, however, there was a sudden and solid warmth at her back, and a strong arm draping over her waist. Isabela’s palm rested flat against Marian’s stomach as Marian cried.

“I’m sorry,” Marian choked out, covering Isabela’s hand with her own and holding tight. “I didn’t want to spoil this.”

“Shh.” Isabela’s voice was warm and comforting in her ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweet thing. Just go to sleep.” 

She wasn’t tired, Marian wanted to protest, but the day’s events coupled with the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on for the last hour or so caught up with her all at once, and she found herself yawning through her tears. With Isabela’s heartbeat pounding against her back, Marian drifted off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Marian’s dreams were vague and elusive. She thought she remembered the bed shifting beneath her, soft lips brushing her forehead, rough fingertips dragging feather-light along her cheek. When she woke, the first rays of sunlight were creeping through the window, painfully bright to her half-open eyes. She reached out a hand only to find the bed next to her cold and empty. 

Suddenly, it wasn’t just the sunlight making her eyes sting. The sheet fell to her waist as she forced herself into a sitting position, wiping angrily at the tears that had sprung anew. It had been too much to hope for, that Isabela would stick around to say goodbye. Still, if she’d known…she tried to recall her last glimpse of Isabela—the look in her eyes, the curve of her lips—only to come up blank. Panic clawed at her chest, tearing open the edges of the rapidly growing void there. 

The sun was growing brighter by the minute; it would be time soon. Somewhere, Marian found the willpower to pull herself to the edge of the bed. She reached up to run a hand through her hair, longer now than it was when she started this journey, and winced as her fingertips brushed over the skin of her neck. 

Marian choked back a sob as she looked at the bedside table, where the light glinted off of the brilliant jewels decorating the hilt of the Dagger of the Four Winds. _Her_ dagger, now, and the only thing she would be bringing back with her, her only souvenir of a vacation too crazy to be believed. 

Shaking her head, Marian buried her grief deep inside herself; there would be time to mourn what could have been when she was home with her family. Now, she had an appointment to keep.

***

Everyone was waiting outside the door of the inn; everyone, that is, with one notable absence. There had been a tiny, stubborn spark of hope in Marian that perhaps Isabela had just risen early, or been uncomfortable with the intimacy of waking up next to someone.

“She really is gone, isn’t she?” Marian asked, her voice hollow. 

The way everyone’s eyes darted away from her gaze was answer enough. Only Varric had the strength to meet her eyes, giving her a sympathetic smile and shrug. 

“I thought, after last night,” Marian choked, hugging her arms tightly around her. “She apologized, and we—I thought she’d at least say goodbye.” 

“Wait a second,” Varric said, holding up a hand, “ _Isabela_ apologized?” 

“I didn’t even know she knew how to do that,” Aveline chimed in, wearing the same shocked expression as Varric.

The two of them exchanged an incredulous look as Marian watched. As the silence wore on, the numb feeling in her chest turned to pins and needles, as though something in her was sputtering back to life. Marian curled her fingers in the fabric of her shirt, pulling her arms tighter around herself. Whatever it was, she was better off if it stayed dead. “What does it matter?” she asked sullenly. “She’s still gone.” 

Varric chuckled and shook his head. “In all the years I’ve known her, the words ‘I’m sorry’ have not once escaped Isabela’s lips.” The look in his eyes was serious, honest. “No wonder she didn’t stick around to say goodbye—you really got under her skin, Hawke.”

The words settled over Marian, freezing her where she stood. If Varric was right, if she truly meant something to Isabela, could she really just leave? Without a goodbye, without being sure Isabela knew how she felt?

“And so the time has come.” Flemeth’s voice jarred Marian from her thoughts; she hadn’t even heard the witch approach. 

Marian’s heart pounded in her chest. She wasn't ready, hadn’t figured out what she wanted to do. She had to go, she knew she did—her family was waiting for her, and…well, it was her home. For some reason the thought didn’t reassure her the way it had before; she still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, and her mother would never lower her expectations to something Marian could actually achieve.

Here, at least, she had felt useful, less like a burden. Maybe she could—

No. Whatever Isabela felt for her, she’d made it clear that commitment just wasn’t her thing. If Marian stayed, she’d just be condemning herself to a lifetime of pining after a woman who would never quite be hers. Hell, Isabela hadn’t even cared enough to stick around to stay goodbye. 

No, she needed to go home. She could work things out with her mother somehow, find something to keep herself busy. Maybe she could take cooking classes. There were billions of women in the world; surely she could find someone to take her mind off of Isabela. 

None of that managed to comfort Marian, though, or make her any more sure of herself as she followed Carver and Flemeth to a small, crumbling house in the center of the abandoned town. She was vaguely aware of the others trailing behind, and of Flemeth explaining the magic she’d worked on the front door to the house. She caught something about an actual doorway serving better to direct the flow of magic, and Flemeth’s instruction that going home was as simple as stepping through the opening. 

Suddenly, Marian found herself enveloped in thin arms. “Oh, Hawke,” Merrill said, clinging tight to Marian. “I’ll miss you both so much.”

“We’ll miss you too, Merrill,” Marian replied sadly, patting the elf’s back gently. She _would_ miss Merrill, even if she wouldn’t miss her cooking. 

Over Merrill’s shoulder, Marian glanced at each other companion in turn. Varric and Aveline both met her eyes with somber gazes and sympathetic smiles, while Anders had a thinly-veiled look of longing on his face. She would miss all of them, she realized; her heart ached at the thought of never playing a round of Wicked Grace again, or sitting around the worn wood table in the galley drinking and listening to Varric’s wild stories. It was funny, really; she’d never felt so much at home as she had in this crazy place that was literally a world away from it. 

Marian closed her eyes against the tears that had formed. This was stupid. She should be happy; after months in this fantasy world, she was finally going home. No more seasickness, or knife fights, or magic—no more killing people, no matter how badly they might deserve it. 

No more salt breeze tickling her face, or gently rolling deck beneath her feet. No more rush of victory in battle, or making love in a thunderstorm. No more Isabela. 

“Marian.” Carver’s voice was gentle, but insistent, as though this wasn’t the first time he’d said her name. She shook her head a little and opened her eyes. Her brother was looking down at her with a mixture of concern and impatience. “You coming? The portal’s gonna close soon.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing would come out. Somehow she knew, to the core of her being, what choice she had to make. The only choice she _could_ make—but it meant saying goodbye, for good, to everything she had ever known. 

“Carver…” she said weakly, hoping he would understand. 

Miraculously, he did. His eyes, mirrors of her own, glimmered with knowledge of the words she couldn’t bring herself to say. “Beth’s gonna miss you,” was all he said. 

A tear slipped down Marian’s cheek at the thought of her baby sister. “You’ll be there for her,” she said, her voice shaking. “Tell Mom—” She stopped. She wasn’t sure _what_ message to send to her mother; there were so many things she’d never said, things she should have told her mother when she had the chance. 

“I know,” Carver said with a crooked smile. He stepped forward, pulling Marian into a hug. “I’ll miss you too, you know.”

Marian laughed; a weary, choked sound through her tears. “It turns out it really did take a miracle to make us get along.” She clung to her brother’s shoulders, marveling at the fact that she was actually reluctant to say goodbye to him. Two months ago she would have gladly watched him go, maybe even kicked him in the ass to hurry him along. It seemed they’d both grown up a little. 

Carver squeezed tighter, chuckling into her hair. “Man, I wish my phone still worked.”

Pushing away, Marian shot him an incredulous look. “Are you _still_ going on about that?”

He grinned. “Not because of Emily, dumbass.” He shoved gently at her shoulder. “Of all the crazy things that have happened over the past couple months, I’m pretty sure you and me voluntarily hugging is the one Beth and Mom will never believe. Photographic evidence would have been nice.”

Marian returned the grin; he did have a point there. 

“Time is running short,” Flemeth said impatiently, shattering the moment. “You have made your choices, now is the time for you to commit to them.”

The smile slid from Carver’s face as he looked back at Marian. “This is it, then. You’re sure?”

She nodded, patting him on the shoulder then sliding her hand down to catch his in a firm grip. “Be happy, Carver.” 

“You too.” 

Carver gave her one last long look before turning toward the glimmering portal. He moved with a purpose, quickly swallowed up by the mysterious purplish light. Mere moments later, the light faded, revealing an empty room. 

Marian eyed the entrance warily before turning her gaze to the witch. “Did we really cut it that close?”

“Perhaps.” Flemeth’s wizened features gave away nothing. “Or perhaps I knew what choice you each would make, and the portal was only designed to carry one. You shall have to decide which to believe. It matters not to me—our business is concluded.” Yellow eyes narrowed as they fixed on Aveline. “Do not seek me out again.”

“Believe me, I didn’t want to do it this time,” Aveline replied.

They exchanged more words, but Marian was scarcely aware of them. The weight of her decision was settling in; Carver was gone, and with him the last tether she had to her own world. There was no going back now.

“What are you waiting for, Hawke?” Varric said, breaking her train of thought with a knowing nudge to her arm. “Go get your girl.” 

Marian looked around at her friends—at Varric’s sly smirk, Merrill’s giddy enthusiasm, Anders’ bittersweet happiness; even Aveline cracked a small smile. 

It was all the encouragement she needed. 

“Check the bridge!” Varric called after her as she hurried away.

***

Varric’s advice proved sound. Marian froze as the bridge came into view, her heart beating rapidly against her ribs at the sight of Isabela’s hunched form. Isabela was nestled in a large gap where the side had fallen away; her legs dangled over the edge, one hand resting against the crumbled stone while the other lifted a bottle to her lips.

It was a sight Marian never thought she’d see again, and she found herself unable to move forward; she could only stand and drink it in. After a long moment, she forced her feet to move.

“One more step and I’ll be wearing your balls for earrings.” 

Marian cracked a wide grin at the threat, and continued to advance anyway. “I should be safe then,” she said, her casual tone spoiled slightly by the tremor in her voice. Isabela’s shoulders tensed. “I don’t have any.”

Isabela twisted to look at her. “Hawke.” Happiness and relief flitted across Isabela’s face before darkening into something more uneasy. “You…you stayed.”

With a sigh, Marian lowered herself down to sit next to Isabela. The space between the two broken edges of wall was barely big enough to fit them both, and her thigh pressed firmly against Isabela’s, her right foot knocking gently against Isabela’s left. 

“Well, I decided I could never live with myself if I condemned you to a lifetime of lackluster stew,” she joked. Isabela’s lips twitched, but her frown stubbornly held on as she looked back down at the water below them. “It wasn’t just for you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Marian said, nudging Isabela’s shoulder with her own. This time Isabela’s mouth did turn up a bit, and Marian took it as encouragement. “Back home, I was nothing but a fuck up,” she admitted. “I couldn’t do anything right—I didn’t even know what I _wanted_ to do.”

“Turns out it was as simple as swashbuckling on the high seas, then?” Isabela glanced up at her, a wary smirk playing at her lips. 

Marian smiled. “That, and frequent mind-blowing sex with the most gorgeous and fearsome pirate captain in Thedas,” she said, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. Isabela chuckled, but her gaze darted away, focusing on the bottle in her hand. Marian reached to pluck it from Isabela’s grasp, sliding her own hand in to lace their fingers together. “In the past two months, I’ve felt more free, more like I belonged, than I ever did in the whole rest of my life put together,” she said, passion creeping into her voice. “I feel like I can do something worthwhile here, maybe even make a difference.”

“You already have.” The words were spoken so quickly, so softly, that Marian wasn’t even sure she’d heard them correctly; her heart skipped a beat nonetheless at the implication in them. When Isabela finally looked up, her expression was one of guarded affection warring with unease. “Hawke, you shouldn’t have stayed. You deserve better than this. Better than me.” 

Before Isabela could look away again, Marian caught her chin in her free hand; her fingers stroked idly down the line of Isabela’s jaw. She smiled softly. “Isabela, you’re all I want.” 

Isabela rolled her eyes, donning an expression of playful exasperation. “Andraste’s tits, you’re not going to get all clingy and sentimental on me now, are you?” She twisted around, gaze searching in the distance back the way Marian had come. “Is that witch still around? Maybe there’s still time to send you back.”

Marian’s smile turned into a full-blown grin. Rather than answer Isabela with words, she reached for the front of the woman’s tunic, tugging her close to press a quick, firm kiss to her mouth. “I’m not leaving,” she murmured into Isabela’s lips.

Grinning, Isabela deepened the kiss, reaching across to tangle her fingers in Marian’s hair. Her tongue teased at Marian’s lips, and Marian moaned at the now-familiar taste of whiskey and salt. For several long moments, the rest of the world ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, and Marian knew she had made the right choice.

When the need for air became too great, they pulled away, foreheads resting gently against one another, and Isabela smirked. 

“I suppose I could find some use for you.”


	22. Epilogue

“Hawke.”

“Ngh.” Marian rolled away from the voice, pulling the blankets up under her chin. 

“Hawke, wake up.”

“Don’t wanna.” 

There was a low chuckle, and a fingertip trailed up Marian’s bare arm. “If you don’t get your sweet ass out of bed, I’ll get Anders to come in and drag you on deck so I can throw you overboard.”

It was the thought of Anders seeing her naked, rather than the threat of an unplanned swim, that finally jolted Marian from the comfortable haze of sleep. Her eyes shot open, and she rolled onto her back.

“I’m up.” 

“Good,” Isabela said with a playful huff. “After we sailed all this way just for you, the least you can do is be awake for it.” 

Marian smiled, reaching up to tangle her fingers in Isabela’s hair. “I know, it’s such a chore, sailing through these gorgeous waters, with nothing but horizon as far as the eye can see.” She tightened her grip, tugging Isabela down until their lips were almost touching. “Have I said ‘thank you’ recently?” 

“Mm,” Isabela hummed into Marian’s mouth. “You might have. I can’t remember.”

“Damn,” Marian said, pausing to press her lips against Isabela’s in a languid kiss. One hand slid onto Isabela’s hip, slipping under the edge of her tunic. “I’ll just have to refresh your memory.”

***

A warm smile spread across Marian’s lips as she looked down at the photograph. Carver filled out a tux nicely, she had to admit, and Emily didn’t look nearly as trashy as Marian remembered—although that could have been the elegant, floor-length dress she was wearing. Pink, naturally. A pink carnation was pinned to Carver’s lapel, and a matching corsage adorned Emily’s wrist. Marian couldn’t help but notice the diamond ring sparkling on her left hand, and her smile widened. It seemed they had worked things out after all.

There was another photo beneath it—this one of Carver, Bethany, and their mother in front of the Cave of the Winds. The letter that had been wrapped around both pictures filled Marian in on the last eight months of her family’s life. 

They had gotten her message, it said. Merrill had gotten no closer to restoring her people’s history with her Eluvian, but after extensive study and experimentation with Carver’s phone, she had figured out a way to send messages between worlds—at least, they’d hoped it would work. It took a lot out of Merrill to do it, and it was only one-way, but it gave Marian some comfort to know she wasn’t completely cut off from her family. 

Luckily, her baby sister was as bright as ever, and had suggested another family vacation to Colorado Springs—after all, if people could be transported between worlds in the cave, then so could letters, right?

Bethany was enjoying Colorado Springs, the letter went on, and she was even thinking about applying to college there. The fact that she’d be closer to being able to communicate with Marian was only a bonus. 

As for their mother, well…she’d been crazed with worry for the two months Marian and Carver were gone. Everyone had told her that they must have fallen into the pit, that there was no way they would have survived, but Leandra had stubbornly insisted that she would know if her children had died. When Carver reappeared on the doorstep of their house in California, she had apparently hugged him for a full ten minutes—before she pulled away and smacked him repeatedly for scaring her so badly.

It had taken less convincing than Carver had expected to get them to believe the story of what had happened. The hardest part had been explaining why he had come back alone, but—Marian stared in shock at the neat, delicate handwriting—her mother wanted her to know that as long as Marian was happy, that was all that mattered. 

Marian’s chest swelled with emotion as she re-read the words. All that time she’d spent agonizing over how to please her mother, and in the end it just came down to being happy and following her heart. She wished she could see her mother just once, to hug her and apologize for being such a jerk, to make up for all the years they’d lost.

Strong arms snaked around Marian’s waist from behind, reminding her of what she’d gained by giving up that opportunity. Marian grinned as warm lips pressed into her neck, teeth nibbling gently at the sensitive skin.

“If you’ve finished collecting your mail,” Isabela murmured, her tongue flicking at Marian’s earlobe, “there are much more interesting things we can get up to in this cave.”

“I remember,” Marian said with a smirk, leaning back against Isabela. She moaned as rough fingertips slipped under her shirt, dragging along bare skin. “But I won’t object to doing them again.”

Isabela chuckled. “Oh, sweet thing, if you think I don’t have more tricks than that up my sleeve, you’re in for quite a surprise.”

Marian bit her lip, growing warm with desire as she turned in Isabela’s arms. She let the letter and photos flutter to the floor—she had more pressing matters to attend to.

The End 


End file.
